My stomach flips. I’m about to blurt out an excuse, but a young woman interrupts us. “Alpha? Do you have a moment?” She’s holding the hand of a boy of eight or so, who stares at me open-mouthed. When I wave at him, he hesitantly waves back, somewhere between starstruck and petrified. Maybe I should offer him an autograph. Capitalize on this new fame while I still can. Sell jerseys. Run for office. Sign partnership deals.
It’s nightmare fuel.
The rest of the shopping trip is marvelous. It’s my first time walking around in public since before my abduction, and I can almost make-believe that my life hasn’t changed in every way. I could be Serena Paris, journalist for The Herald. This could be the store closest to my apartment. The brands are different, the junk food selection is appallingly
