"No. It was a straight-forward robbery. In and out."
"That doesn't match what happened to her parents."
"No, it doesn't." I rub the back of my neck. "I've got a few people I can reach out to, to see if there were any leads in the case. But it's been three years.” I give a small shrug. “It’s very likely that no one remembers or cares anymore.”
Raff is quiet for a second. "I can try to talk to Anton."
I look at him. "That bridge might be ash by now."
"Maybe." He shrugs. "But Anton's been running product through the Morder for years. If someone killed two pharmacists over stolen meds, there's a good chance it's connected to the same supply chain he's plugged into." He holds my gaze. "I can at least try.”
"Okay," I say. "Talk to Anton." I glance toward the office door, then over at the old punching bag on the far side of the shop. "I need something to do with my hands before I lose my mind.”
Four Days Later
Adam
The blankets aren't right.
I know that's a weird thing to be fixated on when my joints feel tight and my skin is so sensitive that the weight of a sheet feels like sandpaper, but the blankets are wrong and I can't stop thinking about it.
They’re thin, and too rough. The wrong weight. The one on the left smells like the detergent Raff bought last month that I've asked him three times to stop buying because it's too sharp, and now it's making my head hurt on top of everything else.
I've been in Cliff's bed for three days now, and I've rearranged it approximately forty-seven times but it still isn't right.
"Stop doing that," Perrin says from the doorway.
I look up. My brother is leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He's been hanging out in the hallway a lot lately, close enough to hear me if I need something, far enough to give me the illusion of space.
"I'm not doing anything," I say.
"You've moved that pillow four times in the last ten minutes."
I look at the pillow in my hands. Then I put it down. Then I pick it up again and move it two inches to the left.
Perrin’s eyes narrow, deep worry twisting between his brows. "Can I get you some water? Or something to eat?”
"No.” I punch the pillow, frustrated. “It's not right," I say, and even I can hear how unreasonable that sounds. But I can't help it.
Something in my chest won't settle until everything around me is arranged exactly the way it needs to be. But I can't figure out what that arrangement is, which is making me want to pull every blanket off this bed and start completely from scratch.
A small “excuse me” drifts from behind Perrin, and he quickly steps inside the room so Elowen can come in.
The omega is carrying a stack of clean, folded blankets against her chest. She takes one look at me sitting in the middle of the bed surrounded by a nest of pillows and sheets in various states of disarray, and her expression does something that is trying very hard to be neutral and not quite getting there.
She must think I’m out of my mind.
"Okay, grumpy." She sets the blankets at the end of the bed. "Let's try these."
"The other ones aren't working," I say, which sounds insane but is completely true.
"I know." She sits on the edge of the mattress and starts unfolding the first one, shaking it out with a soft snap of fabric. "These are some old ones from the linen closet in the hallway. Different detergent."
I reach for it before she's even finished smoothing itout.
The second the fabric touches my hands, something in my chest loosens by one small, significant degree. It's softer. Heavier. It smells faintly like Cliff and Raff, which right now is the greatest thing I've ever encountered in my entire life.
I pull it toward me and press my face into it.
