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Her expression is poignant when I look up. “No, I don’t think he believes it, but he’s in a difficult position. He’ll see the truth eventually—they all will.”
“What about me?” I blurt out loudly. Apparently, talking about Noah makes me touchy. I’m behaving too boldly. I can’t seem to care, though. “And the rest of the betas? Do we get to see the truth, too?”
Her lips spread in a pleased smile. “Yes, of course, Hetty,” she says placidly. “I’m happy you asked.”
“Is that why you brought me here?” My ghost is clawing at my heart, crawling up my throat, and forcing out vitriol. “If it was just to avoid the sickness, you could send us back. If it was ever in Sage House, I’m sure it’s gone by now.”
She hesitates, tapping her finger on the glass. For a moment, I think she’s going to agree. Send us back to Sage House. Back to Noah.
“There’s more to it than that…” She pauses, wavering. “I wanted you here because I knew we’d need your help eventually, and I think the time has come.”
“My help? You have enough betas here, and all the alphas and omegas work, too.”
“Not to work,” she says crisply, setting down her glass and nodding decisively. “And not here. Let’s finish this tea, and then there’s something I want to show you.” Her eyes travel down my body and land on my feet.
I curl my toes in my light canvas shoes, my sweaty hands twisting the folds of my heavy gray skirt.
“But maybe we can find you something else to wear,” she says cryptically. “You don’t need your beta grays where we’re going.”
25
Dropping the Pretext
Noah
Well, this isn’t the Arabica I remember.
The useless lights hanging from the ceiling rock back and forth gently as I let the glass door slam behind me and take it in. It’s dark and dank—the once shiny hardwood floors grimy and dull, and the scattered tables and chairs empty.
I only see one person—a beta standing behind the counter. Her face is downcast, her hands are folded on the empty countertop, which is free of its usual array of baked goods.
To be fair, I don’t come here very often. Sure, I like the coffee, but I never quite got on board with the atmosphere. It was always too crowded for my comfort. Too concerned with being fashionable.
No matter the day or time, it was overflowing with immaculately dressed alphas and omegas, congregating and socializing.
I don’t like crowds or talking, so I avoided it at all costs.
It was more Jason’s scene. He’d spend hours here with his friends—a bunch of weak-ass faux intellectuals—and debate stupid shit like the finest merits of the Order or how to lower the impact of betas’ personal needs on the needs of alphas and omegas.
He’d come home so excited, sure that if someone heard his ideas, then he’d be able to make his mark on Goldenrod. Always so certain that he deserved more out of life.
My gut twists at the thought of my brother, so I hurriedly push him from my mind. I’ve got more important things to deal with right now.
The beta straightens and grabs a rag, mechanically moving it over the countertop as she watches me approach.
“Hello,” I greet her.
She nods silently, her eyes glued to my face.
“Can I have a cup of coffee, please? Black.”
She nods again, turning to the counter behind her. Over her narrow shoulders, I watch her pour some tepid–looking coffee in a green mug. Digging a coupon out of my pocket, I toss it on the counter.
She turns and gasps. “Oh, Administrator Sage, you don’t have to—” She bites her lip as if she immediately regrets speaking.
I hold up a hand, dismissing her. “Yes, I do.”
Staring at the coupon, her narrow throat moves in a swallow before she mumbles, “If you say so.”
