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I turn to the side, keeping Cage in my sightline. If there’s one thing I’ve learned as he follows behind me from menial task to menial task, it’s that Cage is cruel.

He reminds me of Joffrey Baratheon. He thinks being cruel makes him powerful, when it only makes him obvious. He doesn’t have any true power—not like Vae or Silas or Daxen—but he’s convinced himself he does. He’s drunk on the idea of authority. And bitter that no one will hand him any.

“What is it?” I take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s right behind me, and I hate the way it feels having him at my back.

“This is The Lost Room.”

Cage flips a switch, and light fills the overflowing storage area.

The room is as big as my own in the attic, with ceilings twice as tall. Boxes are stacked in rows reaching all the way to the eaves, made of cardboard, wooden crates hammered shut with nails, and even metal lock boxes.

Dust glitters in the overhead light, tickling my throat.

“It’s what we do with the personal property of Bastards who die and have no next of kin,” he explains. “Most of the stuff in here came off corpses. Bastards who never came back from missions, or trainees who died during drills.”

“That’s so sad,” I whisper. This doesn’t feel like junk so much as a graveyard of forgotten memories. “All of this stuff belonged to males who died?”

“Don’t get any ideas, Omega.” Cage snarls.

I frown. What’s he talking about?

“I’m just saying, you’re not going to be the reason anything gets added to this room.”

I seethe silently. He acts like I’m here specifically to hurt others. I’m the one being hurt!

But that continues to escape everyone’s attention. Well… everyone except for Vaelenor.

Over the last few days, I’ve caught him watching me with a thoughtful expression on his beautiful face. Like he’s trying to work something out, but can’t quite get there. The male can be just as biting and cruel as the others, but there are also times when he’s almost… kind.

Like last night, when I caught him coming down the stairs from my room as I was climbing up. We both froze on the landing, next to each other. I wanted to ask what he was doing, but when I opened my mouth to speak, he turned on his heel and nearly sprinted away from me.

When I got to my room, there was a sandwich and two bottles of water waiting for me outside my door.

I was so overwhelmed with gratitude that I could feel it bubbling up through my chest. My Omega wanted me to chase after him. It soothed her, knowing the Alpha cared enough to take care of us.

The flame was disgusted by my gratitude.

Your jailer remembers to feed you once a day, how kind. Even dogs are fed more than once a day. He doesn’t even dare to do it where other people can see it.

And honestly, that’s a fair point.

I don’t understand Vaelenor. During the day, he’s cold. Cruel. He stands by while Silas mocks me, and Cage terrorizes me.

But when I find myself alone with him, he acts like he wants to help but is too much of a coward to do it where it matters. Or maybe he just doesn’t want anyone to know.

Either way, it’s confusing. It’s hard to hate him when sometimes he’s the only reason I eat all day. But he’s also the one who showed me where the shower was, and brought me Band-Aids when he noticed the calluses on my hands. And dropped hair-ties on the floor next to me when he noticed me struggling with my braid.

And his eyes… every time he looks at me, they soften just a bit before hardening again.

But I can’t trust him, either. Not when he’s kind in the shadows, but cruel in the light. Not when I don’t know which version of him is real.

Either way, my instincts are in too much of a riot to turn down scant nesting materials or the secret help of an Alpha.

Even if he isn’t mine.

At this point, anything might keep me from worsening. My bones hurt. It’s a deep pulsing ache in my marrow that never disappears. My mind is foggy all the time, like I’m living in a dream I can’t wake up from.

I’m also terribly, desperately sad. I’ve never experienced depression like this before. Constant soul-crushing, all consuming feelings of dread and despair.