Page 29 of Puck Your Charity

"Have a good day at work, Rick!" The jingle of car keys follows her farewell.

The front door slams shut. The walls vibrate from the impact. A few seconds later, the low rumble of Chloe's minivan engine flares to life in the driveway. The sound fades down the street as she drives away to tackle the school drop-off line.

I listen to the house. I track the loud, shuffling footsteps of my brother-in-law.

Rick walks from the kitchen to the front door. The deadbolt clicks into place. The secondary lock turns. His boots hit the entryway mat. The door opens and shuts again, this time with a quieter thud.

The house goes dead silent.

I release a breath. My tense shoulders drop a full two inches. The knot in my stomach untwists for the first time in days.

The coast is clear. The kids ride a school bus. Chloe navigates morning traffic. Rick drives his truck to the gym and his afternoon shift at the warehouse.

I stand up and stretch my stiff back. The idea of leaving this stuffy, smelly box feels like a victory. I crave a few minutes of absolute normalcy. I want a hot cup of coffee. I want a piece of buttered toast. I want to pull up a chair at a table and look out a window without feeling like a hunted animal.

I twist the flimsy lock on my doorknob. Pushing the wood open, I step out into the hallway.

The silence in the house feels like a luxury.

I walk down the hall and step into the kitchen. The morning sun floods through the large window over the sink. The light warms the scuffed linoleum floor and brightens the faded yellow walls.

I walk over to the coffee maker on the counter. Finding a clean ceramic mug in the dish rack, I pour myself a steaming cup of leftover drip coffee. The roasted aroma hits my nose, making my mouth water.

I grab two slices of bread from a plastic bag on the fridge and drop them into the toaster. Pushing the lever down, I lean my hip against the counter.

Taking a sip of the hot, bitter coffee, a tiny shred of peace settles over my chest.

I grab my phone out of my back pocket and unlock the screen. I need a plan. Hiding in a bedroom and starving to death offers no long-term solutions.

Opening my banking app, the numbers on the screen make my stomach drop. My savings took a hit paying for a last-minute storage unit. The landlord waived the eviction fees, but locking my furniture and my entire life inside a rented metal box drained my accounts.

I have enough cash left to cover gas and cheap groceries for a month. Scoring a new apartment means dropping first and last month's rent plus a security deposit. My current bank balance laughs at that idea.

I open my internet browser and navigate to a medical job board.

The hospital fired me because of liabilitylaws. High-stress floors ban unbonded Omegas to prevent Alpha ruts. But remote clinics and private pediatric offices might offer a loophole. A desk job doing telehealth consultations keeps me away from Alpha patients and crowds.

Typing my credentials into the search bar, a list of available remote positions pops up. Hope flares in my gut. I can update my resume this afternoon. I can send out ten applications before dinner.

I take another sip of my coffee. The hot liquid warms me from the inside out.

I survived the Iron Wolves and their devastating pheromones, the eviction, and the brutal side effects of the suppressants. Finding a remote job and securing a tiny, cheap apartment in a Beta-friendly suburb feels possible. I can rebuild my life from scratch.

The toaster pops with a loud metallic clank.

I set my phone on the counter and reach for a butter knife. For the first time all week, the future looks manageable. I drag the butter knife across the hot toast. The melting butter smells incredible after three days of eating dry oats.

A floorboard creaks in the dark hallway behind me.

The hair on the back of my neck stands straight up. The tiny shred of peace in my chest vanishes, replaced by a massive spike of ice-cold dread.

I freeze with the knife in my hand.

"Making breakfast?"

The voice comes from the entryway.

I spin around, my back hitting the edge of the kitchen counter. My heart drops into my stomach.