“I’m glad you have someone looking out for you.” Ken patted his shoulder. “The Neutral Zone can be harsh on people going through difficult transitions.”
Something about the word made Cass look at him sharply, but Ken’s expression remained pleasant.
“I should get back,” Cass said, standing on unsteady legs. “My friend will worry.”
“Of course.” Ken helped him up. “But if you ever need someone to talk to—someone who understands feeling lost in a place like this—I’m often around. I’d be happy to check on you.”
“That’s very kind.”
“Take care of yourself, Cass.” Ken’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”
The hotel room was empty when Cass returned.
Right. Riot was at the pharmacy. Checking on his medication. Taking care of his responsibilities while Cass had been...
Giving information to a stranger. Telling him about the hotel. About Riot.
The realization hit belatedly, and Cass sank onto the bed with growing unease. Ken had seemed so nice. But the questions had been specific, hadn’t they? Pointed in ways that only seemed obvious now.
Everyone here is so suspicious, he’d said. Maybe they had reason to be.
Maybe Cass should have been suspicious too.
A whimper escaped him. He pressed his face into the pillow that smelled most strongly of Riot and felt his whole body ache. Cass clutched his meditation beads and waited for Riot to come home, trying not to think about how the word “home” had started to mean wherever that strawberries-and-cream scent was strongest.
Transcendence means leaving behind patterns that no longer serve you, he reminded himself.
He didn’t want to leave this pattern behind. He liked it, even though it was scary, like standing at the edge of a cliff, terrified of falling, but part of him desperately wanting to jump.
Chapter ten
Chest Thumping with Money
Riot
Riotwaswalkinglikea predator, and he knew it.
The realization hit him as he turned onto the hotel’s street, catching his reflection in a shop window. Shoulders rolled forward, hands loose at his sides, eyes constantly scanning. The kind of fluid, dangerous gait that made civilians cross the street and other Alphas assess their odds.
There was another day’s delay at the pharmacy. The clerk’s apologetic shrug had been unconvincing at best. Shipmentproblems didn’t happen three times in a row—not for custom-ordered medications.
The Syndicate had its fingers in a lot of pharmaceutical supply chains. If he was a betting man, he’d wager a guess that a certain Chimera was behind his sudden inability to get the medication he needed not to rip people apart with his bare hands.
The idea of seeing Ken taken apart joint by joint was suddenly very appealing.
“Hey, you.”
Riot turned toward a middle-aged woman in patchwork clothes with scarred hands and a confident posture that screamed, “Try something.”
“You’re the one with that Elysian missionary,” she continued. “The one everyone treats like dogshit.”
Riot’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?”
Her expression softened unexpectedly. “That kid’s been trying to help people for months. He gives away his own food, patches up injuries, and never asks for anything back. He’s got a good heart. Rare thing around here.”
Something tight in Riot’s chest eased slightly. She wasn’t just bringing Cass up to talk shit.
“Anyway.” She led him to a small cart of salvaged jewelry. “I got something that might suit him.”
