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I flipped him off, but he didn’t notice the gesture, hurrying away as I tried to ground myself amongst this overwhelming of the senses.
I grabbed out at the next passerby, a middle-aged human who almost slipped out of his skin at my touch.
“What the—?” he choked, locking eyes with me.
“Where am I?” I demanded.
He stared at me, jaw slacked. Pulling away, he glanced around like he was seeking help. “W-what?”
“What’s the name of this place?” I tried again, desperately trying to ignore the whizzing of vehicles in my sidelong vision. “Where am I?”
“You’re in Montshire, pal.”
He rushed away before I could process that, my mind returning to the map that was now tucked away in my bag.
I’m not even halfway to Pario City,I thought mournfully.Barely a quarter way. I have to find a new form of transportation if I want to make it there.
Or I could always just go home.
I remained on the bustling sidewalk, letting the over-caffeinated populace rush by me, all in a haste to be anywhere but where they stood. I had no idea what was waiting for me in Pario City or why the pull was so strong to go there, but if it was anything like this place, I wasn’t sure I could endure it.
Go back home where you belong,a sensible voice insisted firmly.This is ridiculous.
But Seven Rock had never been my home, and I’d always known that. The postcard had only validated what I’d long believed.
I couldn’t even be sure that my name was Elijah, surname unknown. The moniker had popped from my lips the first time anyone had asked me, and I’d used it ever since, but I didn’t know whether it was a relic of my past or genuinely my name.
And until that postcard had appeared without any warning or reason, I never really believed I’d ever know the answer, either.
No. I had to see this through. For once, I had the chance to find some answers, some real, tangible leads as to who I was and how the hell I’d ended up in the ground without a single memory except maybe my name.
But to do that, I’d have to keep going, technological overload or not. Waking up in that pit had taught me one thing: I was no quitter.
Now to steal me a car.
Chapter4
Abby
“What happened the other night?” Orson asked me when I went to pick up that day’s deliveries.
There was no preamble, no usual morning flirtation, and my guard arched at his tone when I wandered into the warehouse behind his and Etta’s shared property a few blocks from my house as I did every day.
“What do you mean?” I replied, setting my backpack on the table in front of the sorters before turning my eyes to him. “The other night when?”
I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t gone home, taken a long bath, downed half a bottle of mulled wishberry wine, and crashed before the insomnia had kicked in. As always, the restless dreams about things I had no business remembering kept me from ever fully enjoying a full night of slumber.
“With that tweaker downtown,” Orson explained. “I heard you almost took off his hand.”
Frankie. Right. I genuinely had forgotten about him.
Inhaling, I rolled my shoulders, slid onto one of the stools as the sorter loaded my deliveries for the day, and set my gaze on Orson’s deep, black irises. Immediately, his expression softened, and I regretted the direct eye contact. I had no illusions about Orson and how he felt about me. If he wasn’t “subtly” brushing up against me, his eyes undressed me at every turn. I’d learned years ago to always ensure we met in public spaces, with several witnesses. He hadn’t crossed a line yet, but I had no doubt with the right opportunity he would make a move, and I wasn’t about to risk my job by sleeping with my boss.
Never mind the fact that I wasn’t attracted to him in the least. That wasn’t really relevant. If Orson had insisted, I probably would have gone along with it, if only to keep my place in the Verity hierarchy.
Luckily for me, he appeared to like the thrill of the chase more than the idea of losing Etta. At least for the time being.
“He came at me for a score,” I explained. “He didn’t back off.”
