(ty for your time, it's much appreciated :) the little star is happy to see you)

(EDITED) (Note to readers: Some chapters ahead may not be in line with the new edits.)

[WARNING:

The following chapter contains brief scenes of gore. If this topic disturbs you, please refrain from reading further. Reader discretion advised.]

The last time I ate meat was at fifteen, in a Subway three miles out of Ninth Unit.

Ninth Unit was a city crawling with fae who didn't want to be found, either by family or feds. It was in the upper sanctum of California, right under the nose of San Francisco, called by Mercy "more ostentatious than Gatsby but more cryptic than Dickinson". It meant it had a lot to show, because it had a lot to hide.

I was shoved into a booth with a cup of water and a bed of napkins, my jacket tied around my shin. I was bleeding out just a bit on my shoulder where werewolf claws had dug too deep. (Fucking werewolves. Them and bloodsuckers could take a damn hike. Off a cliff. In Hell.) D had told me a sandwich ought to take my mind off it, and Mercy told me to get a grip. I couldn't grip shit. All the blood made my fingers slick.

When JJ returned with our sandwiches, he pushed one to me. I said, "I didn't order."

"Eat up, Ghost," Mercy urged, unwrapping hers. "You need the energy."

I sighed. I took the sandwich and unwrapped it.

"Meatball sub," she said. "Act like a real lycan for once, won't you?"

I peeled away the paper, which was damp with red. The scent that flew into me wasn't salt and herbs, but metal. I furrowed my brow. I figured it must've been the blood on my hands, on my shoulder, on all of our open wounds. I figured I was hallucinating.

I took a meatball off to peer closer at it. My nails tore it open. My nose couldn't shake the iron smell, the rotted air. I said, "What's this?"

"Don't you listen, Ghostie?" Mercy said. "I just told you."

My stomach churned. "What?"

"What's wrong?" she asked, and when I looked at her, a malicious, silver-toothed smile looked back. "You, of all people, should know."

I stared at the red meat, the granules and chunks.

I shoved the sandwich away so fast it that it fell off the table, collapsing in a sickening red splatter on the tile. I bolted for the bathroom, and yanked the faucet on so fast I nearly tore the handle off. The water splashed over my face, hands, arms, shoulders, I couldn't even care for the tap water taste in my mouth and the shiver it sent down my spine. Every cut burned as I scrubbed furiously at my skin as if to take it off my bones. Bone and flesh. Sinew and blood. My stomach roiled, and would've upheaved itself if there was anything in it to vomit.

When Mercy found me, she handed me a towel, and a knowing smile. "You're so dramatic, Ghost," she whispered. "It was only a little joke."

It was an indefinite haunting. Nia had tried to share a bowl of rice and braised beef with me after the incident, and I'd blacked out after a whiff of the stuff. Pastrami made me physically ill, and ground beef was enough to make me collapse, and salmon had me catching my breath. Sausage or kielbasa stripped me of my appetite. I'd suffered the consequences of it by foregoing a good deal of muscle and undergoing the occasional dizzy spell, but it was a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

Your father taught you well, Mercy had said behind my scalpel. Never take what's not yours.

That was the real joke, because there was nothing that was even mine to begin with.

_____________________

"Coach Emeline Edwards of Corvus has issued a statement regarding the overwhelming amount of controversy over Corvus's three new rookie racers in an interview with ESPN. She stated that she has 'no intention of removing the racers' as they are 'integral to Corvus's future development', and were chosen for their skills, not their rank. She states that she has no doubt the world will think differently in their next Eval, and their previous ones 'must have been a fluke' since she 'hasn't seen rookie racers this good in many years of coaching this team'. Edwards goes on to say that all three of them are to be second half lineups for the rest of the season. Take a look at this clip."

"'Corvus has always been regarded as an elite team, an untouchable group. But the best part of square racing isn't its elitism, but its open field for anyone to become elite. It's one of the only sports that strategy takes precedence over physicality. Tell me another sport that can have a scrawny kid like mine go up against a huge lycan like the one last week and still win just based on their own head. I didn't recruit those freshmen for the politics. I recruited them to keep Corvus's legacy going as a team that's not afraid to do anything they need to win. They're not just a few new subs, they're the next Corvus, and anyone who doesn't like that can rethink their prejudice on the sidelines.'"

"You heard it here straight from the crow's mouth! This next generation of Corvus isn't going anywhere. Many fans responded with mixed emotions at this, with some from Stirling and Padmore stating they don't appreciate being treated as 'social justice projects', with other Drachmann and Huangs saying it's 'insulting' to be next to lower ranks. We'll be back with more information on this tomorrow during the..."

__________________

Wednesday came for me with claws out. Teeth ready. Collegian cruelty.

"It's all over for me now," I said, and meant it.

Rosalie shoved past me. "Drama queen," she scoffed. She flicked her glasses down on her nose and stared at me through the amber lenses. "Get in the car."

March was due for its yearly expiration that Friday, leaving the dregs of winter slowly easing off the gas and letting spring take over the skies. Southern Californian spring wasn't really sunshine and sweet seventies though, but rather just a wintry dog chasing a summery tail and leaving us all to deal with the mercurial onslaught of rain one day, heat wave the next. Fashion, therefore, was limited in range.

Unless you were Corvus. Read: unless you were rich enough to buy off Mother Nature.

Rosalie had upheld her promise to give my closet a "much-needed makeover" and I was quickly kidnapped from my comfortable corner in one of the Talon's quiet rooms, knee-deep in concentration calculations and copper chloride. I'd had no say, nor choice.

("You can't make me," I told her, not looking up from my papers, which had quickly piled up from all the commotion of the past several weeks.

"Oh," she said, and leaned down to snag my pencil. "Yes, I can."

"How?"

Kane appeared from behind her. "Get dressed," he called. "Tracker."

Rosalie gave me a decidedly smug look, her green eyes sharp and wicked. She pointed at me. "Trackee.")

There was a vast general parking lot and structure for Avaldi's student body, along with a exclusive one reserved for faculty, but per their character, the Talon preferred to keep their athletes separate, and owned a private garage below ground.

It required the keycard, and gave way to a garage that didn't display much, most of its cars either obnoxious wastes of money or fairly functional vehicles. Only Kenzo and Zahir brought their cars to Avaldi, the rest preferring their bikes or the bus for transport instead—although the group went so little places outside of the Talon or Avaldi's surrounding area they rarely ever needed something more than the van for games or their own two feet. Although Zahir was not a bad choice to go driving with, it was Kenzo's car I was showed, as that was the car Kane had chosen.

The BMW was difficult to miss, being a bright lime green SAV, and harder to mistake with double spoke wheels, a red-leather interior, and a custom plate reading a very succinct AVUCROWS across it. Kenzo leaned on the left tail light, talking to Kane with a solemn expression.

"I'll do something if I get in that car. Like go into anaphylactic shock," I said.

"What're you allergic to?" Wynter snapped behind me.

"Beamers and poor shades of green," I said, wrinkling my nose.

Zahir stood across from us, tossing his keys from hand to hand. "You could ride with us."

A viciously black SUV was parked across from the beetle-colored car, a growling jaguar on its wide-mouthed grill. The license plate read AVUCROWS in deep violet. Like a goddamn cult.

"Like a goddamn cult," I said.

"Fucking cool cult," Wynter breathed.

Diego swung an arm around Wynter, who yelped, and dragged them both towards Zahir's car. Zahir raised a brow.

"Let's ride the gato grande, yeah?," he said with a snicker. "Kenzo doesn't know what street signs look like."

"Wait, what," I said.

Wynter gave a mocking salute. Behind me, Meredith called, "Shotgun!"

"Mer," Zahir breathed. "Good, Diego starts screaming at the front."

"Hey, there was a spider—and that was one time."

Meredith swung towards me and smiled brightly. Her sunglasses were perched on her head. "Don't worry, Kenzo knows the stoplight colors."

"And?" I squeaked.

Meredith patted my shoulder, then headed for Zahir. "Wait for me!"

Zoe looked between the two vehicles with moon eyes and an open jaw. She clutched my arm. "I've never been happier in a cult."

"You say it like this is not your first cult," I muttered.

"First happy one! Is that a chrome finish? Pinch me. Ow. I said pinch not punch!"

"I hear talking," Kane snapped. "Why is there talking?"

"The therapy is free here, you know," I told him. "I bet Ramos is qualified to treat schizophrenia."

He sneered down at me. Kenzo raised a brow. "Who let it speak?"

Corvus snickered and clambered into the cars. Rosalie took me by my ear to yank me towards the lime green monstrosity. "From this thing," she muttered, "definitely not me."

Kane opened the back door for us. "Get in the damn car."

"Kidnapping in broad daylight," I muttered, hoisting myself up to scramble inside. "I want a mug and a phone call."

"A dye job like that, I'll be saving you from a mug," he drawled.

Rosalie shoved past him to crawl in beside me. She yanked his seatbelt out to place put the buckle in his hand and save him from feeling around between the seats. I said nothing.

Kenzo climbed into the driver's seat. I leaned over. "They're kidding about the spotlight thing, right?"

He turned on the engine.

Kenzo rolled out of the parking lot. I turned on Rosalie. "Why are you between us?"

"And here I thought you two would appreciate having someone in between you for once," she said. "I'd rather suffer the company of both of you than the presence of one of him." She pointed at Kenzo, who turned around to stare blankly at her and let the car find its own way down the ramp. "Kenzo, eyes on the fucking road."

"Offensive," he said.

"To psychos," Kane snorted.

Kenzo faced front to greet the roads of Avaldi. I pulled my legs up to sit cross-legged in the seat. "Which ones are those?" I asked Kane, glancing down at his golden, monogrammed sneakers.

"Louboutins," he said, then met my gaze. "Do you like them?"

"No," I said plainly. "I like blue."

Kane cocked his head at that. Rosalie gripped the back of Kenzo's headrest as he made an illegal U-turn, earning a horde of honks in his direction. She slapped his shoulder. "If you don't kill us first, I will, drive like you care to live."

"What are we going to the mall for exactly?" I asked. "Other than Kane being my designated stalker?"

Rosalie perched her sunglasses on her blonde head, her bejeweled earrings swinging around her jaw. "You rookies have got some fresh cash in your pockets now. All those victories start piling up. Why not treat yourself? Or, do the bare minimum, in your case." She grimaced at my get-up of a lost-and-found hoodie and blue jeans.

"You don't save the money?" I asked.

"Sure, but not all of it."

"What else would you need it for?"

"Fun," Kenzo said, and swerved across three lanes for the left one, nearly crashing into four other cars as he went. Rosalie let out a slew of curses even I couldn't replicate if I tried.

"Kenzo bought this with his victories," she said, patting the cushions. "Zahir bought his car, Mer bought new furniture, I bought these babies—" She gestured at her purse and matching glasses. "—and a few other closet additions. Kane obviously bought more shoes. And Diego bought, like, five pounds of imported Japanese strawberries."

"What?"

"But every racer finds something to blow a little play cash for."

"You've got the wrong trauma baby," I said, holding up a hand at her. "My 'play cash' is for Chinese takeout and veggie burgers, thanks."

"When have you ever eaten Chinese takeout?" Kane asked.

"Exactly," I said.

"Do you even know where to get takeout?"

"Oh, me? Got a lot to say there, granola bar. The only takeout I've seen you eat is a three-ingredient Chipotle bowl. You're like a damn bunny."

"I'll throw you out this car and let Kenzo run you over."

"Joke's on you, I'm small enough to fit under the car."

"You're small enough to fit in a pickle jar. You're a Korean Napoleon."

"I'm allergic to strawberry."

"The French midget, that's Neapolitan."

"Same thing."

"Napoleon was one of the most well-known French generals of the early nineteenth century—"

"I hear talking. Why is there talking," I mocked.

Rosalie said, "You two have a seriously strange dynamic."

Kenzo ran a red light, earning a chorus of vehicular screams in return. "We're here," he said.

The mall was more of a courtyard, and gave way for patrons to pay for overpriced sandwiches and feast on green smoothies. It was decked out with concrete parking structures that littered the surrounding region like a brutalist sitting beside a ballerina. It boasted long windows, mirrored floors, sleek walls, crystalline details, a dozen bronze statues, marble tiles, stone stairs, wood frames, and enough overflowing fauna to play an atrium to the unknowing eye.

I stood before the rows of bubbling fountains within blue granite. Zoe clutched my wrist.

"I never thought I shop here without having to take out a loan," she whispered. "Dreams really do come true."

"That's just sad," Wynter said, then added, "I'm gonna go all Pretty Woman in this bitch."

"Yeah, yeah, that's great," I said. "I'll be at the food court."

Meredith came up behind us and engulfed us in a tight hug, squealing in our ears. "I haven't been here in months," she said. She patted Wynter's shoulder. "You excited?"

"Color me stoked," I murmured. "I'm pretty serious about the food court thing."

Rosalie laughed mockingly, then shook her head. She said, "Go."

She shoved us all forward to pass the fountains and head for the trio of double glass doors ahead.

Four floors made the white interior look like a sparkling, cream cake. Dozens of shops lined the front to the back with LED lights and sky-high windows displaying anything from shirts to sunglasses to perfumes to shoes, every brand a stamp on a million-square-foot, transcontinental passport.

"I'm gonna have a goddamn status epilepticus," I muttered.

"Don't know what that is!" Diego said and clapped both hands on my shoulders. "Hope it means you're gonna buy a bunch of cool shit, because, cobayo, we're getting kind of sick of seeing you dress like a broke college kid."

"I am a broke college kid."

"Aha! Not anymore, rico. Where to first?"

I felt a little ill just seeing the brands available to me, each one flashing price tags between the hundreds to the thousands to the hundred thousands. Rosalie glanced at Kane, who seemed perfectly in place inside the glittering emporium.

He glanced around, then jutted his chin forward. "Go," he said.

Meredith headed for the first store. "Let's try here first."

Zoe and Wynter ran after her, and I was thrown to the wolves.

The stores were endless, but the prices were even more so.

"What do you think? Clashes?" she asked me, holding up a pair of cobalt blue pumps.

I glanced at the price tag. "With common sense? Probably."

"Quit worrying about the numbers and tell me if it clashes."

Wynter frowned at me from behind a sweater. "Aren't you gonna look around?"

"For what?" I asked. "Do I look like I should be looking around?"

"For the sake of those holes in your shirt, yes."

I shrugged, walking for the exit. "You all have fun."

Kane came beside me. "You should look at the shoes," he said, gesturing at the wall of them, all lit up in boxes like precious jewels. "It's good to have a nice pair of dress shoes lying around."

Zahir pushed me towards the wall. "He's got a point. Spring wasn't the only banquet event you're gonna have to attend."

"Is there a clearance?"

"Clearance," Diego snickered. "Hey, cobayo, I didn't know you were so funny."

Kenzo pointed at a pair of black leather loafers, piped with honey brown. Zahir nodded, glanced at me. It was an admittedly nice pair of shoes, shiny with a capital S. My stomach twisted.

"They're nice," I said. "You should get them."

"We're talking about you," Zahir said.

I shook my head. "You should get them." I turned around to return to the entrance. As I went, they looked between each other, and let me go.

Zoe piled on dresses and blazers over her arms while Wynter snagged jackets and button ups off the hooks. Kenzo already had an armful of jeans and graphic T-shirts in his arms by the time Zahir was in line with two waffle-knit long sleeves.

"Aren't those sort of small for you?" Wynter asked him.

Diego slung an arm around him. "He likes showing off his músculos, you know?"

She shrugged. I leaned against a mirror beside the sunglasses, watching them all flutter about from one end to the other. Kane returned to toss a bomber jacket in my arms, purple like boysenberry.

"Nice color," I said.

"Get it," he replied.

I handed it back. "I have a jacket."

Kane furrowed his brow. He said, "You're really not going to get anything."

I. Own. You.

I curled my fingers in my pockets until my nails dug into my palms. "No," I said. "I'm all right."

On and on and on.

Wynter examined a series of backpacks while Zoe was content to filter through rows on rows of wallet cases. The stores began to blur together in my vision, blue and black and red and white, lined with silver, threaded with gold, cut or pinched or ironed to perfection. The smell of fresh leather and smooth metal made my head teeter.

Rosalie held up a windbreaker to me from one clothing rack. "What do you think?" she asked.

"I don't think I'm the one to ask about fashion," I told her.

"Not what I asked."

"I guess it's nice?"

She hummed and walked away without another word. Wynter held up a quilted jacket. "Is it rich ugly or just ugly?" she asked.

I sighed and let my head rest on the wall. An attendant looked me up and down with a sneer.

"Oh, honey," he said. "Thank God you're here now."

"Yeah, hold your prayers, I'm not buying anything."

"Are you sure?" He gestured towards the clothing racks. "Are you really sure?"

"Is this allowed?" And so on.

I rested on a bench beside a rack of jackets. I fingered the sleeve of a black biker one. Diego turned to me and said, "Nice, right?"

"It's soft," I admitted.

"You gonna get it?"

I let the sleeve drop. "Nope," I said.

A harpie scurried over to us, feathered arms and neck flickering as he spoke, golden eyes raking over the jackets. "You find everything all right? These are brand new, you know. Great for the spring!"

Diego pointed to me, but I pointed right back. "I'm good. Help him, maybe." I disappeared to the other side of the store.

Everyone's arms were filling up fast with bags, big and small, as we walked the length of the mirrored floor. I turned around to frown at Kane behind me, who was holding an impressive number in his hands.

"Do you all really need more clothes?" I asked.

"You do." Kane gestured ahead. "Just go."

Zoe plucked a red hoodie from the top rack and yanked me beside her. She held it up in front of me, and we faced the mirror.

"We could share it," she said.

"You're trying to kill me," I replied.

"Red is in!"

"It looks nice on you."

"Yun. You have to get one thing."

Kenzo tossed me a half-zip turtleneck. "Try something," he said.

Zahir nodded. "It'd look great on you."

I chewed the inside of my cheek, and shook my head. "Yeah," I muttered. "I bet it would."

I passed Kane looking over a cashmere pullover. I said, "Looks comfy."

Kane glanced over at me. "Do you wear pullovers?"

"Never tried one. Don't already have one of these?"

Kane didn't answer in favor of grabbing one off the rack and heading for the checkout counter.

The mall was beginning to feel less like an outing and more like a prison.

"You're insane. Clinically. Somebody get some fucking lithium in here," I said as Zoe perused gold and black blazers, the material slick enough that water would slide right off.

"Shut up. Blue or black? I think blue is prettier."

"It's a four-thousand dollar suit, nothing is pretty enough to justify that," I said, gaping.

Meredith held up a mini dress. "How do I look?"

"Off your damn rocker, that's what."

"They have your sizes!" she said, beckoning to Zoe and Wynter.

I watched them go and sighed to myself. Zahir passed by and flashed a graphic T-shirt at me with a smile to accessorize. "Fashionably insane?" he quipped.

"I gotta lie down."

I walked over to where Kane was leaned over on a glass display counter, eyeing the glittering jewelry. I settled next to him. He pointed down at a necklace, a roaring lion in the black pendant's heart.

I eyed it. "That's nice," I said. He hummed. He pointed at a bracelet, designed like a golden safety pin. I said, "Also nice." He pointed at a signet. "Bit bold, no?" He nodded, then pointed at braided leather bracelet. "That's pretty."

Kane gave me a silent nod, and headed down the counter.

"How about this?" Rosalie held up a pair of bermuda shorts to me. "Jacquard, very comfy."

"You gonna wear it?"

"Just say if you like it or not."

I sighed. "The pattern is nice?" I tried.

Rosalie hummed, throwing it over her arms. "Check out the bags. You might wanna buy a new one."

"As long as my backpack strap stays mostly on, I'm good."

"Mostly?"

"Mostly."

"Oy vey."

I leaned against the wall. Mercy's words were horseflies in my ears. The lights were too bright and the smell of fresh polyester too thick. I felt dizzy.

Zoe held up a bag to me, and the scent of leather made my lungs hurt. "What do you think, Yun?" she asked.

I swallowed hard. I said, "Fits you great."

And on. And on. And on.

"It's a beautiful color," Zoe said.

"It is," I replied.

"This would fit you perfect," Wynter said.

"I bet," I answered.

"You should get these for sure," Diego said.

"For sure," I repeated.

"This is right up your alley," Zahir said.

"Probably," I admitted.

"Get this," Kenzo said.

"Maybe," I murmured.

"This one is really pretty," Rosalie said.

"Very," I hummed.

"This would be so handsome on you," Meredith said.

"Thanks, man," I said.

No one could compare to the sheer volume and range of the mall's final emporium, located at the very end of the vast building, boasting every retailer from A to Z. It gave you anything you desired, from your toes to your ears, gems and leather, cotton or polyester, gold or silver, blue to red, scents and smells, men and women, Italy or Thailand, hand-sewn or industrial. If I wasn't dizzy before, I was downright nauseous now.

The others dispersed at their whim, leaving me and Kane alone, arms full of bags and a thousand square feet to scale.

Kane said, "Look around, see if you like anything."

I knew he'd argue if I argued so I took off to the nearest available aisle, consisting of knitwear. The bags in my arms, although only containing light clothes, felt heavier than barbells.

I walked aimlessly through the maze of wool and cotton, shades of copper red and inky gray decorating the racks from top to bottom. I made it all the way to the end, my head foggy with price tags and half-loop stitching, before I paused at the only blue sweater of the batch.

It was a pale thing colored an adolescent blue. I dared to hold the sleeve. I thought of my mother, wind whipping her cardigan around her body, a shock of sky under her pitch black hair. I lifted the sleeve up, rubbed the wrist. It smelled of attic wood and her faint perfume.

I dropped the sleeve. I held my hand against my chest as if it'd been burned. I made a move to walk away.

Kane said, "Do you like it?"

I whirled around. "Christ alive," I breathed. "You scared me."

Kane reached out. He took the blue sleeve. "Do you like this one?"

I swallowed. "I don't know. It's okay." I scratched the back of my head. "Do you? You seem the type to wear this."

He shrugged. "It'd suit you," he said. "You should get it."

I dug my nails deep into my sleeves. I shook my head. "All that for a cardigan? I'll live."

Kane frowned at me for a beat. For a moment, I thought he'd try to convince me to buy it like the rest of them would, but instead he said, "I'm looking at colognes. Wanna come?"

He headed for the fragrance counter where two witches were busy in vehement conversation with one another in vitriolic French. At our approach, one woman covered neck to palms in branches of jasmine flowers turned to face us, silver eyes lighting up. Her mood dissipated into a sickly sweet grin.

"Hello!" she said, her accent plucking the consonants like violin strings. "How can I help you today?"

"I'm looking for a simple scent, nothing too strong," Kane said, slipping into French without missing a single beat. Panic was fast and fleeting in my chest, but I didn't move.

Her partner hurried over. She rested her hands on the counter, skin adorned in autumn leaves. "Any name in particular? Un parfum pour ta copine?"

His grin was polite. "No name preference. And, a cologne would be best."

I perked up at that. It hadn't yet occurred to me that Kane might have someone, considering his personality wasn't really the amiable kind. Is that what all the bags were for? I was tempted to ask, but that would mean explaining I understood what he said, and that was an entirely new issue. I kept it for my back pocket. Kane King, shopping for goodies and treats for a boyfriend. The image was, if not startling, amusing.

The autumn witch returned with sample strips and two bottles. She sprayed them on strips and handed them to Kane.

He passed it to me. "Smell this," he said in English. "Tell me what you think."

I took a whiff, then gagged. "Did they juice an Englishman or something?"

The witches glowered at me for that. Kane hummed and handed it back. The autumn witch took it with a glare in my direction before scurrying off.

The jasmine witch handed Kane the other one, who also handed it to me. I frowned. "Aren't you buying it?"

"Just tell me what you think," he snapped.

Cologne of any kind was a gamble. Alphas and Betas didn't have as keen of an olfactory sense against Omegas, nor was their gustatory range as wide, so perfumes were not common buys. But Kane would find it suspicious if I reacted too viscerally, and it already felt awkward being a determining factor in his boyfriend's cologne. I ground my teeth and took a short whiff.

I hummed. "It's...musky."

"Which is?"

"Strong," I tried. I couldn't tell if he meant it for an Omega or Beta or even another Alpha, so I went with the stereotypical bet. "Omegas like softer scents."

Kane frowned, confused. "Omegas?"

I faltered. "Er, but Betas like something more citrus, I think. I know Alphas prefer this."

"Okay? So what, I'm asking if you like it."

"Not really," I admitted. "Smells like leather."

Kane pushed new strips towards me.

I barely got one sniff before I was coughing. "That's worse than the Englishman."

"Try again," he said, pushing another one to me.

It was all sugar. My head was beginning to hurt. I gagged a little. "Uh."

"Jeez, you're hard to please," he murmured. He faced the witches. "Anything else?"

The autumn witch eyed me carefully, looking me up and down. She narrowed her silver gaze, and the dart that struck me was on-target and deep, that she could tell. She crossed her hands, and hummed with a disdainful tilt of her head.

"We might have something better," she said, and withdrew pale green bottle. She gave a spritz on a strip.

The scent was far softer than the others, just barely sweet and lined with spring. I pursed my lips, staring down at it. "This one is...nice."

"You like it?" Kane asked.

"Sure, I can get behind it. Here."

Kane plucked the paper from my hand. The jasmine witch grinned. "Very fresh, good for summer and spring. Popular with the lycans. Very easy on Omega noses." My heartbeat tumbled over itself.

Kane paid that no mind, but said, "I'll take a bottle of this."

The witches sagged with some relief before nodding and heading over to ring him up. Kane withdrew his wallet and handed her a card. When they handed him the bag, he held it out to me, and said, "Let's grab the others." He followed me through the store, a true tracker.

My head spun with the perfumes and leather. I stared down at the bag of cologne, the little bottle tied at the top with a bow. Something stung in my temple, less an ache, more of a pulsing irritation that only grew the longer I stared. I sighed.

I left the mall empty-handed.

We returned promptly enough. Uma gave us interested looks, up until Zahir handed her a little white bag on our way, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek for it.

"Good time?" I asked Zoe and Wynter.

They both eyed me for a moment, then Zoe squeezed me into a hug. "Great time," she said. "You?"

"Stretch of the legs, so yeah." I glanced at Diego. "Where'd you run off to?"

He looked to Zahir, then gave me a grin. "Ah, nowhere. Hey, help us with the bags, yeah?"

The girls grabbed their things and followed him into the guys' room. I headed for the kitchen as they stacked up bags on the table. The mall haunted me in my lungs and eyes, my vision still splintered with stars and my throat clogged with the smells. I rubbed at my nose. But the scent that remained was that of the soft cologne, and it only made me more irritated.

I rubbed my temples and filled a glass of water. I turned to head back to the room.

Corvus sat and stood around the table, chattering among themselves. At my gaze, they all stopped and stared at me.

I frowned. "Am I about to die?"

"Why the hell do you always think you're gonna die?" Wynter snapped.

"If you knew," I muttered. "What's happening? I thought we already did initiation."

Meredith burst out, "I can't take it, surprise!" She stretched out her arms upon the pile of shopping bags before us. "Are you surprised?"

I raised a brow. "Surprise what?"

"Surprise this." Diego gestured at the bags. "Ta-da? Wakka wakka?"

"Ey-ey," Kenzo deadpanned.

"What?"

"It's for you," Rosalie said. "Surprise."

I blinked. "For me," I repeated.

"We knew you wouldn't buy anything on your own account so we thought we'd secretly trail around you and buy it for you instead," Meredith explained giddily. "Kenzo wasn't kidding about your stinginess."

I whipped my head to Kenzo. "My what?"

He shrugged. Zahir elbowed him. "We know you're very money-conscious," he corrected, "but we thought it'd be nice if you got a few upgrades and felt less worried about the costs so we surprised you—and agreed not to call you stingy."

Meredith pursed her lips. Kenzo shrugged again.

Diego grabbed a bag, and slid it across the table towards me. "This one is more important though, for practical sense." I stared at it. "You're on Corvus's plan, by the way, so it's already covered. Most of our numbers are in there already. I'm Sexiest Port Tail of the West Coast, triple hearts, by the way."

I didn't dare move for it. I couldn't will my feet to. Zoe must've seen it because she reached out and plucked it from its bag. The box was simple, and in that, unmistakable.

A phone. A real phone, at that. Janchi, Atlas 22.

The air was starting to feel fucking thin.

"It was King's idea," Diego added. "True tracker."

"You can stop spilling all our secrets now," Rosalie said. "But it was King's idea." She gestured at the bags. "You can thank him, if anyone."

Zoe held out the phone to me. "Try it out, text one of us. Or you can open these up. We can see who got you the best buy," she said, winking.

Corvus stared at me, waiting with wide eyes and soft grins. But my heart was beating too fast and my stomach was too tight. The pulse in my temple had transformed into a nebula, a burning sensation that ran from the top of my spine to the tips of my fingers. I clenched my fists. I thought of Mercy's mocking smile, the way she had dangled the bleeding fish before me. I. Own. You.

I said, "I don't want it."

They went very still. They glanced among themselves.

"What do you mean you don't want it?" Rosalie snapped, raising a brow.

"I mean I don't want it," I said again, louder. "Take it back, distribute it among yourselves, whatever. I can't afford any of this."

Wynter frowned. "We didn't ask you to."

All I could see were the numbers piling on the table, mountains of dollars I couldn't even begin to imagine repaying; a debt. My chest was hollow.

"You don't have to," I ground out. "I can't afford this."

"It's yours," Meredith said.

"No, it's not." My voice frayed; I could hear its edge that broke the bonds of their excitement. "It's yours. Take it."

"Think of it as a favor," Diego said. "Favor, yeah?"

"I can't afford it," I repeated, and everyone went deadly quiet. "I can't—I won't ever be able to pay you back. You all can just take it."

I shut the door behind me and left them in the silence.

All the lies on my file, Mercy's wicked grin, my father like a shadow in my bones. I didn't need more charges on my name. I didn't need to owe anyone anything more than I already did.

The ache of it tore me to shreds.

My escape was short-lived.

I sat on the balcony, the chill of early April nibbling at my skin. My breath was the only warm thing in sight with the help of a nameless cigarette, the city lights cold and blue. My back was flush against the metal railing to let the smoke curl out from my teeth and wrap around the bars.

"You missed dinner."

I didn't bother looking, but said, "I did."

Kane's footsteps approached me until he was sitting across from me, leaning his shoulder against the metal bars. The breeze kissed his black waves, pushed them from his eyes. He gestured at my cigarette. I handed it to him, and he took one puff before he was spitting the smoke out and grimacing. The blue cardigan from the mall encased his body, soft as whispers.

"At least buy decent smokes," he muttered, dropping the cigarette onto the concrete. He withdrew his pack and handed a new one to me along with the cartoon crow lighter. "You're hopeless."

"Thanks," I said. "You're doing numbers for me today."

"Why are you out here?"

"I heard it's indecent to smoke inside. Something about the fire alarm."

"You should've come to dinner."

"If I did everything I should've," I shot back, "I would be nowhere near here."

Kane stared. I sighed out storms. He kept his unlit, its pristine body dangling between his ring-clad fingers. The night made him a demon, a dark entity.

"If you did," he countered. "Where would you be, then?"

Dead. I shrugged. "Not here, is all," I sighed. "If you're here to talk about the mall."

"I'm here to talk about you." I glanced at him. Kane rolled the cigarette about his fingers. He waited, like that was enough of a question.

I blinked. "I didn't buy anything," I said plainly. "I don't want what I didn't buy."

"Why not?"

"I just don't," I said. "I didn't ask you to."

Kane blinked. He reached into his back pocket and, dreadfully, procured a clean black phone, its face a tinted mirror of the night. He placed it between us. "You don't have any means of contacting us or of us contacting you, it's a safety hazard, especially since the press and half the racing fan population has your head on a dartboard," he said. "Use it or don't, but at least keep it on you. If something happens, you'll need it."

"Kane—"

"Take the stuff or don't," he continued. He got to his feet and took my cigarette from my fingers. He lit the end of his own with its orange flame. He headed back for his door. "They're gonna be there either way, we don't need them. Diego made some stir-fry for lunch, the leftovers are in the fridge, he says you're welcome to eat the rest."

"Kane—"

"Coach said to send her a message just to make sure it works and you know how to find her," he went on. "She, Ramos, and I are in your SOS contacts, in case you're anywhere without data. Meredith moved the bags into your room."

"Kane."

Kane finally turned to me. He blew the smoke in a streamline. It turned as blue as the cardigan he wore. He waited.

I pursed my lips tight. I stared at the phone still lying on the concrete. I didn't know how to say it. The ache in my head was a pounding drum.

Kane let out a heavy sigh. He said, rather carefully, "You don't owe us anything." I looked up. "We didn't buy anything so you'd have to repay us, we did it because we wanted to," he said. "So stop giving us that horrified face like you've seen a ghost whenever someone tries to give you something, it's getting concerning." He gestured at the phone. "It's yours."

I stared at the phone for a long moment. I thought of the flip phone from Mercy, buried beneath my mattress, tucked beside my gun, the knife, a bloody pair of Ferragamos and a bloodier, blackened suit.

"Why?" was all I managed.

Kane paused, like the question was the last thing he expected to be asked. He opened his mouth, closed it. His face softened, not to something sympathetic, but rather something tacit.

"Call it a gift," he told me.

His door slid shut behind him, and left me with the black phone, and the faintest smell of cotton trailing behind him.

When I returned to my own room hours and cigarettes later, I found the pale blue cardigan folded on my bed, and the bow-tied bottle of cologne resting in the center of the bathroom counter, waiting to be opened by softer pair of hands.

It smelled like spring and silver.

(ty for reading, this was a lengthier one. thanks for sticking around for it. the little star is forever grateful for your patience :D )