I put the cord in my apron pocket. I picked up my clipboard. I began to count faster.
Two hours later, the heavy iron door of the North Cellar scraped open. I didn't stop counting the sacks of winter wheat, my charcoal pencil moving rhythmically down the parchment. I only paused when the footsteps stopped precisely at the edge of the grain bins. It wasn't Tess's shuffling gait. These boots were leather-soled, purposeful, and impatient.
"Omega."
I turned, instantly dropping my shoulders and lowering my chin. It was a young Beta from the administrative wing, his uniform jacket crisp and dark against the gloom of the cellar. He held a brass-clipped requisition board tight against his chest.
"Beta Theron is delayed at the western perimeter," he said, his voice clipped and efficient. "The P
