I had walked, willingly, the short distance to the old cottage that is being used as a makeshift pack house for the rogues. It is very run down with no windows and no roof in parts, but I guess it serves its purpose as a base. We are seated in what I presume was once a living room although all furniture that was once here has long gone, our seats now crates and boxes that have been scavenged from elsewhere. One of the rogues walks into the room carrying my handbag, a ringing coming from within it.
“She is little miss popular. It has hardly stopped ringing all the way over.” The rogue says as Alpha Phillip holds out his hand silently demanding my bag. The rogue willingly hands it over and Philip opens the bag but then let’s it drop on the floor, whilst he is still holding my phone. I glar
