The auditionsusedto be scheduled for the end of the month. That would have been three weeks away. But now they're in seven days, which means...
"Since the auditions will no longer pertain to packless Omegas," Ms. Chen adds, and there's something almost gleeful in her voice, "the timeline is accelerated. Only pack-claimed Omegas are eligible now, which means a smaller pool of participants, which means faster processing."
Faster processing.
One week.
Seven days until I find out if I get to leave this nightmare.
A giggle escapes.
High, bright, completely inappropriate.
I clap my hand over my mouth, eyes going wide, feeling the familiar flush of embarrassment that always follows my uncontrolled outbursts.
But Ms. Chen just smiles.
Like my particular brand of chaos is something she's learned to accept rather than judge.
How?
How is any of this happening?
I woke up alone this morning.
The memory surfaces, still fresh, still tinged with the particular kind of disappointment that comes from expecting something and finding nothing.
The bed was empty.
Not just empty—cold. Like no one had been there for hours. Like whoever put me there walked away the moment I was settled and never looked back.
I'd lain there for longer than I should have, staring at that vaulted ceiling, counting the beams.
One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.
Waiting.
For what, I didn't know. A sound, maybe. A voice. Some indication that I wasn't alone in this massive house, that the alliance I'd offered before falling asleep had been accepted rather than dismissed.
But nothing came.
Eventually, I got up.
Found clothes laid out—not the pink pajamas from before, but an actual Ruthless Academy uniform in my size. Skirt, blouse, tie, the whole ensemble. Even the right shoes, which was somehow the detail that made me want to cry.
Someone had planned for this.
Someone had thought about what I'd need when I woke up.
But they hadn't stayed.
Hadn't left a note.
Hadn't done anything to indicate whether I was a guest or a prisoner or something in between.
So I gathered my stuff.
What little of it there was—Ro, mostly, who'd apparently been charging all night and woke with me, sensors blinking in that steady rhythm that meantonlineandfunctionalandstill here.
