Zara picked me up in her silver sedan, the engine idling nervously at the curb of the high-rise.
The sun was still high, casting long, sharp shadows across the pavement, but I felt cold. I slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door on the imposing glass tower that felt less like a home and more like a prison.
"Luna?" Zara asked, her hands gripping the steering wheel. She took one look at my face—pale, drawn, eyes likely wild—and winced. "What happened? You look..."
"Drive," I said. "Just drive, Zara. Please."
She didn't argue. She merged into traffic, putting distance between me and the Alpha.
"Do you have Vincent’s number?" I asked abruptly.
Zara frowned, glancing at me. "Vincent Brooks? The geometry guy?"
"Yes."
"No. Why? Did he... did he do something to you?"
I took a deep
