CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Rebel
The ballroom had been given over to an army of omega workers.
Margery stood in the center of it with a clipboard she didn’t need and a headset, like she was working traffic control at a major airport. Ladders leaned against the far wall. Bolts of pale fabric were being unrolled down the length of the tables. Someone was up a stepladder threading fairy lights through the rafters, someone else was on their knees chalking the floor where the dance space would open up. The whole room smelled of lilies and lemon oil.
It seemed like the entire pack was vested in the success of this homecoming celebration.
I had been summoned. That was the word Margery’s messenger had used—summoned—as though I were staff, which in the reckoning of this house, I more or less was.
“T
