Chapter 5: The Wrong Suppressants

The pillow took up most of the back seat.

I buckled it in because I didn’t want it flying forward if Ben braked suddenly. Adrian watched me from the curb with his hands in his coat pockets.

“Should I be jealous?”

“Of the pillow?”

“You’ve never fastened my seat belt.”

“You know how.”

“So does that.”

I closed the door and turned toward him.

He was wearing a cap and a plain mask. It was enough to make him less recognizable, although the coat, the height, and the way he stood still attracted attention.

“Try not to flirt with household items in public,” I told him.

“I was talking to you.”

My hand slipped off the door handle.

He looked delighted.

I checked the street before crossing to the pharmacy. Adrian followed, carrying a small paper bag from the café next door.

He’d bought me a breakfast sandwich even though I’d already eaten.

Apparently, in his opinion, eggs at home didn’t count.

“You can wait inside,” I said.

“I’ll stay by the entrance. It’s quieter.”

The pharmacy had a line at the counter, but I could see him through the glass doors. Ben’s car was parked close by. The pavement was busy with people buying coffee and heading to work.

Nothing about it looked dangerous.

I bought a basic emergency kit: scent-neutralizing wipes, gloves, and sealed supplies approved for assisting an omega until professional help arrived. I had carried a kit when Lucy was younger, but most of what remained at home was out of date.

The pharmacist checked the packaging and asked whether I knew how to use it.

“I’ll call for help if it’s needed.”

“Good. Don’t improvise.”

I had no intention of improvising. I’d seen enough people make a bad situation worse because they thought confidence counted as training.

While she rang up the purchase, I glanced outside.

Adrian stood beside the door with his head bent over his phone. Then he looked up and caught me watching.

Even with the mask, I could tell he smiled.

I turned back to the counter.

The pharmacist followed my glance.

“Your partner?”

“Employer.”

She handed over the receipt with an expression that suggested she’d heard that before.

I folded it carefully.

The receipt mattered. I was absolutely submitting it as an expense.

A shout came from the plaza across the road.

At first, I thought someone had fallen.

Then another voice called for people to move back.

The pharmacist looked toward the doors.

“Stay here,” she said. “I’ll get the response kit.”

I was already moving.

A young adult woman sat on the pavement beside a bench, bent forward with both hands at her neck. Her companion had crouched beside her. An older security guard was trying to keep approaching people away.

Several stopped when he asked.

One didn’t.

He stepped closer, speaking over the companion as if the distressed woman had invited his attention.

I couldn’t smell what was happening. I could see it, though.

The fixed attention. The agitation. The way people who should have kept walking began watching instead.

My stomach tightened.

Behind me, Adrian said my name.

I turned.

He had gone very still.

“Get in the car,” I told him. “Ben’s right there.”

“Cole—”

“I’ll come back as soon as the responders arrive.”

I handed him the pharmacy bag and crossed the road.

He didn’t call again.

By the time I reached the bench, the man had crouched too close to the woman. Her companion shoved at his shoulder.

I stepped between them.

“Back up.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“Then help from over there.”

He looked at my face, then my shoulders, and stood.

The security guard exhaled.

“Response team’s on the way.”

“Good. Keep the route clear.”

I crouched far enough from the woman that she could see me without feeling crowded.

“My name’s Cole. Your friend can stay with you. Is there someone you want her to call?”

Her companion already had her phone out.

“I’m calling her wife.”

“Keep talking to her.”

The pharmacist arrived with another staff member and took over the care side. I moved back to the edge of the small group, keeping people from closing in again.

Most were embarrassed once someone gave them a clear instruction.

A few were angry.

One caught my sleeve.

“You’re a beta. You don’t understand what this is like.”

I removed his hand.

“I understand the word no.”

He squared his shoulders.

I stayed where I was.

After a moment, he looked away.

Good decision.

The incident lasted less than ten minutes. It felt longer.

When the response team arrived, I explained what I’d seen, gave the security guard my number, and stepped aside.

The woman’s companion thanked me.

“You stayed,” she said.

I glanced at the woman, who was now sitting more comfortably with a responder beside her.

“That’s what people are supposed to do.”

I meant it.

I also knew how often they didn’t.

Adrian wasn’t outside the pharmacy.

I checked the car.

Ben stood beside it, looking at his phone.

“Where is he?”

“He went back to the apartment.”

“You drove him?”

“No. He said he needed some air. It’s two blocks.”

I stared at him.

“He’s worried about a stalker, and you let him walk home?”

Ben’s expression sharpened.

“He told me to wait for you.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

I called Adrian.

No answer.

I called again while walking toward the building.

Ben followed for a few steps, then said he’d bring the car around.

The café tables blurred past. I kept looking into doorways, checking the street ahead.

Two blocks.

A short walk in a familiar neighborhood.

I told myself those things while my mind supplied every reason they might not matter.

He’d looked strange outside the pharmacy. I’d been too focused on the woman across the road to ask.

What if his own cycle had started?

What if someone had recognized him?

I called a third time.

The phone rang until voicemail.

I walked faster.

At the building, the concierge told me Adrian had arrived alone. That eased the worst of the panic, but not enough.

“Did he seem all right?”

“He went straight upstairs.”

I used my access card and waited for the elevator, watching the floor numbers descend far too slowly.

I should have gone with him.

I should have told Ben to bring the car over before I crossed the road.

I could keep inventing things I should have done, or I could find him.

I concentrated on that.

The apartment was quiet.

“Adrian?”

I left the door open long enough to check the entrance, then closed it behind me.

His cap lay beside the console table. The pharmacy bag was on the floor.

He sat against the wall near the hallway, one knee bent, head lowered. His coat was open, and his shirt clung slightly at the collar.

I dropped beside him.

“Hey. Look at me.”

He lifted his face.

His eyes found mine, but it took effort.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“My phone—”

He looked toward the console table, as if he’d only just remembered it existed.

I touched his wrist.

His skin was hot.

Not warm from walking. Hot enough that I pulled back and checked his forehead.

He closed his eyes.

“Adrian, are you sick?”

“I needed to get away from the plaza.”

“Then you should have told me.”

His fingers caught my sleeve.

For one second, his grip was startlingly strong.

Then he let go.

“Don’t come closer,” he said.

I frowned.

“I’m already sitting here.”

“I know.”

His breathing had become uneven. I reached for my phone.

“I’m calling someone.”

“Cole, wait.”

“What am I waiting for? You’re sitting on the floor and barely answering me.”

I found the pharmacy bag beside his knee and pulled it open. The sealed supplies spilled onto the rug.

He looked at them.

Then he looked at me.

Something like dread crossed his face.

“I’ve got the emergency kit,” I said. “Tell me what you normally use, and I’ll get help.”

He shook his head.

“Those won’t help.”

“Why not?”

His gaze dropped to the labeled packets.

When he spoke, his voice was rough but perfectly clear.

“Those are for omegas.”