Page 117 of Claimed By the Psychos

I tuck the picks inside my gown and leave the door locked. That's what Evan expects if I escape, me running for the exits he's definitely watching. Instead, I go to the vent in the corner, the one that's painted to match the walls but opens if you know where to press.

The screws come out easily with the picks, and then I'm sliding into the ventilation system that became my secret highway when I lived here. It's smaller than I remember, or maybe I'm bigger, but I fit. Barely.

The metal is cold against my skin through the thin nightgown, but I've crawled through worse in less. I know these vents like I know Felix's heartbeat—every turn, every junction, every room they pass over.

The first room I peer into makes my chest ache. An omega sitting on a bed identical to mine, staring at nothing. The next room, another. And another. All of them with that same hollow look I used to see in the mirror.

Save them,the shadows whisper.Save them all.

"I will," I promise, meaning it. "But first I need to find?—"

Movement in a storage room catches my eye. Not an omega's room, this one's different. Concrete walls instead of silk wallpaper. And there, slumped against the wall?—

"Archer," I breathe.

How? They must have taken him, too.

What if they got the others, or worse, what if…?

No. I can't let myself go there. That thought will succeed at doing the one thing Evan never could, for all his attempts. Breaking me.

Archer is unconscious but breathing, hands zip-tied behind his back, blood dried on his temple from where someone hit him. Even from here, I can see his chest rising and falling, but he's too still, too quiet.

The vent opens into this room. Evan probably never thought to secure the storage areas the same way. I drop down as quietly as I can, but Archer doesn't stir.

"Archer." I shake his shoulder. "Soldier boy, wake up."

Nothing.

I shake harder, and his eyes finally flutter open, but they're unfocused, pupils blown wide.

"Angel?" he mumbles, and fuck, they drugged him. "Pretty angel. You shouldn't be here."

"First time anyone's called me that," I say dryly, checking his bonds. The zip-ties are tight enough to cut off circulation. "Archer, I need you to focus. We have to get out of here."

He blinks slowly, like he's swimming through honey. "Juniper? You're... you're real?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Very real and very much needing you to wake the fuck up." I start working on the door lock, hands shaking slightly because I can hear footsteps somewhere above us. "Can you stand?"

He tries, managing to get to his knees before swaying dangerously. "Room's spinning."

"Yeah, well, it's about to get worse. Can you fit through the vents?"

He looks at the opening I came through, then at his broad shoulders, and even drugged he manages to look skeptical. “No way.”

"Why can't alphas come in travel size?" I groan, but I'm already working on the door. This lock's easier, since storage rooms don't rate the same security as the “merchandise.”

It clicks open, and I peer out. One guard, looking bored, playing on his phone.

"Stay here," I whisper to Archer.

"Like hell—" He tries to stand again, this time managing it, though he has to lean against the wall.

But I'm already moving, creeping up behind the guard with the picks held between my fingers like tiny daggers. He doesn't hear me coming, doesn't know I'm there until I'm jamming the metal into his carotid.

He drops, phone clattering on the concrete, blood pooling fast. I grab his gun, his knife, and his keys, trying not to think about how easy that was. How natural.

"Damn," Archer breathes when I come back. "Remind me never to piss you off."