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Tam: Do I even want to know?

Calax: u r children

Addie: Ryder, don’t lock people in cages. It’s not nice. And Ronan, don’t fart in people’s faces. And Calax, please learn proper English grammar, or I’ll have to break up with you.

I smirked at my phone as a flurry of text messages came through.

Calax: I do apologize, my fair lady. I will work diligently to text the way you prefer, my beloved.

Ryder: so whipped.

Ronan: whipped

Calax: idiots

Calax: I meant to say, that those two were hooligans in desperate need of a life and a good, old-fashioned courting.

Ryder: courting? What the fuck?

Ronan: language brother. And he meant a lay. We need to get laid.

Ryder: ohhhhhh

Fallon: turn on the tv

I blinked at my phone, surprised at seeing the text message from the elusive, sullen group leader. Frowning, I grabbed the remote for my television.

I didn’t even have to change the channel. I imagined this story was covered on every possible station.

Yellowstone National Park’s volcano had erupted earlier this morning.

The sky in the surrounding areas had turned a dusty gray, soot and other materials thickening the air. The death count, according the news, had reached the thousands. There had been no warning, no alarm, just destruction. It was difficult to hear the news relay what had transpired. It was too surreal, like I was watching a commercial for a movie instead of a live broadcast. It was horrifying.

I had thought that the world was going back to normal. Scientists, according to the media, have been working tirelessly to find a cure for the Virus XHJKM. I had no idea what those letters stood for, but it sounded terrifying. They still had yet to discover what caused the virus and how it was transmitted.

It didn’t transfer from a bite like it did in the movies.

Nerves fraying, I switched the TV off and settled back into bed. I didn’t want to think about the molten lava on screen, turning black the further it slithered away from the mountainous base. I didn’t want to think about Virus ABC or whatever the hell it was. Not dealing was my way of not feeling. I could bury the emotions inside me until they threatened to rise from the grave. No, what I wanted to think about were...the pillows. Why did a bed need so many pillows? Was it to smother someone in their sleep? Were they for pillow fights?

“Why are you thinking about pillows?” a familiar voice questioned. A moment later, a blond head peered into my room.

I squealed happily. If I could’ve, I would’ve run to him and given him a big hug. My excitement quickly turned into panic. Asher couldn’t be here; he couldn’t be in my home, where my parents could see him. They would destroy him as they had destroyed Ducky and tried destroying me.

“Asher, what are you doing here?”

The boy in questioned smiled brilliantly.

“I’m your new physical therapist.”

I blinked.

“Say what now?”

He looked exactly how I remembered him, though it had only been two days since I had last met up with him and the others for lunch. I was, admittedly, a bit dramatic when it came to them. His blond hair was tousled, framing an arresting face of high cheekbones and green eyes. He wore slacks and a button-down shirt, rolled up at the elbows.

Why did he have to be so mouthwateringly handsome?

Asher blushed, indicating that I had said that thought aloud. Typical.

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