Skirting around the edge of the building, I slip inside.
My watch reads 8:00 a.m.
3 8:05 a.m.
As soon as I enter the building, I know something is wrong.
I pass by Henry at the front desk, with his wrinkled Hawaiian shirt and slightly bowed posture. He smiles when he sees me, but there’s something behind it that makes me pause.
“Good morning, Harper,” Henry says.
“Good morning, Henry,” I reply.
“Mr. Humphrey wants to see you in his office,” he tells me.
My stomach twists. Mark Humphrey is the senior director, and I’d recently been moved to the position of being his little bitch. (The technical title for it is “administrative assistant,” but I’m all for calling a spade by its name.)
I halt with my hand hovering over the elevator call button.
“Did he say why?” I ask Henry.
Henry sucks in a breath. The sound is so subtle that if not for my wolf hearing, I wouldn’t have picked it up. My head tilts as I sharpen my hearing and pick up the unsteady tripping of his heart.
He knows something that he’s not telling me.
I leave the elevator and approach the front desk behind which he sits. I notice his throat bob as I near, pick up the increasing pace of his heart, and that smell…
Fear.
Yes, I’m sure of it.
Henry and I have always been cool. My heart drops at an inkling that shoots across the sky of my mind, but I draw a breath and vow not to freak out until I know what exactly is going on.
“Henry,” I say, as cooly as I can manage. “What is it?”
Henry holds my gaze for a moment, his gray eyes wary for a few heartbeats before he blinks and lets out a sigh. He pulls his cellphone from his desk drawer and pokes at the screen before turning it toward me.
At first, I cannot process what I’m seeing.
“You’re all over the news, Harp,” Henry says, and still, it doesn’t quite process.
I stare at the screen; a video set in a convenience store. I watch as a man in a black ski mask enters, brandishing a gun at another man behind a counter. Even though I know what is going to happen next, I still can barely process it.
A woman enters. She’s got dark auburn hair and olive skin, and is wearing a fuckin’ cool The Flash hoodie and Converse shoes. The scene from last night replays in my head along with the one on Henry’s phone screen.
If not for the fact that this whole situation sucks ass, I would admit that I look pretty badass as I disarm the robber and then leave him unconscious, totally saving the damn day.
Then I see the cashier pump the shotgun and aim it at me, and the reality of the situation steals over me.
On the screen, my face is clear as day, from my big amber eyes to my full lips and high cheekbones.
Motherfucker, I think.
In front of me, Henry nods his agreement.
“So…what are you, Harp?” Henry asks, withdrawing his phone and laying it on his desk.
I’m in shock, that’s what I am.
My secret is out. Not just to a few people, but to the whole Gods damned world. My first instinct is to run, but where would I even go where that video wouldn’t follow me? I have to swallow before I can speak.
“I’m a person, Henry. Just like you,” I reply. Then I head back to the elevators, feeling his gaze on me the entire time.
The elevator dings. The doors slide open. I step on in a sort of daze.
Everyone knows.
How did I let this happen?
The elevator doors slide open in front of me. Again, the urge to run strikes, but I hear my mother’s voice, as I so often do in times of crisis.
Be brave, little wolf. Always be brave.
Right. I step off the elevator and square my shoulders. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I can’t help what I am anymore than anyone else can. I draw a breath and eye the doorway to my right. Humphrey’s office.
I swallow and step into the doorway, pushing the door open a little bit so that I’m visible. Somehow, I muster a smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Humphrey,” I say. “You wanted to see me?”
Mark Humphrey sits behind his large mahogany desk, bespectacled eyes staring at his computer screen, drawing up to me slowly. He wears a gray suit with a polka dot bowtie. He’s a small man, with a thin build and a height that reaches an even five feet and five inches. He’s got to be nearing sixty, but his tightly trimmed goatee and hair are a solid brown that does not occur in nature.
“Come in, Harper,” he says. “Shut the door and have a seat.”
My mind flashes back to all the times in school when I’d been called to the principal’s office. I shut the door and take a seat in the chair across from him.
Silence stretches between us, as if he expects me to say something. I don’t. Instead, I raise my eyebrows.
You called me in here, I think, and wait him out.
Humphrey lets out an exaggerated sigh and closes his laptop. Then he leans back in his chair and eyes me.
I want to, but I refuse to squirm.
“I’m assuming you saw the news,” he says.
My head tilts. My nerves are fading away and being replaced by indignation.
“Which news would that be?” I ask.
Say it, you smug bastard, I think. You want to bring it up, then at least have the balls to talk straight.
Humphrey’s eyes narrow behind his glasses, my hackles rising at the accusation veiled there. “The video of you in that convenience store,” he says. “That news.”
I nod slowly. “Am I in some kind of trouble?” I ask.
Humphrey tents his hands in front of him, as though he’s deep in thought. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.
“Well, no,” he says. “I just wasn’t aware that you weren’t…”
