Page 72 of Storm

"Leaving the city?" Frankie repeats, leaning forward. "Alexander, what's going on?"

"I don't know," Alexander admits. "But if Jonathan is telling us to run, it's serious."

My heart hammers against my ribs as we speed toward the penthouse. "The fathers," I guess. "They're coming for me tonight."

Alexander doesn't confirm or deny. We make the normally fifteen-minute drive in under eight, screeching into the underground garage with the tires squealing.

"Leave everything unnecessary," Alexander instructs as we rush to the elevator. "Clothes, toiletries only. We need to be out in ten minutes, max."

The elevator ride feels endless, my mind racing with possibilities, each worse than the last. When the doors finally open, I sprint down the hallway to my room, where Rook is pacing anxiously.

"Storm!" he exclaims, grabbing me by the shoulders. "What the hell is going on? Reed called. Said that we're leaving."

"I don't know," I admit, grabbing onto him and not wanting to let go. "I think the fathers are coming to take me away to another pack. Jonathan told Alexander to get everyone out, to go somewhere safe."

Rook doesn't waste time with more questions, immediately helping me gather essentials. We throw clothes in my backpack haphazardly, grab my medications, and I snatch the small photo of us—the one thing I refuse to leave behind.

When we emerge into the hallway, Alexander is already there with his own bag, looking grim but determined. Frankie appears a moment later, white-faced but composed, a small backpack clutched in his hands.

"Reed's meeting us downstairs," Alexander says, herding us toward the elevator. "We'll take two cars. Reed can't be seen with us."

"Why not?" I demand as the elevator doors close.

"Because he's the distraction," Alexander says cryptically. "He's buying us time."

The garage is a flurry of activity when we arrive. Reed is there, throwing bags into the trunk of a nondescript black SUV I've never seen before.

"About time," he growls when he sees us. "Alexander, take them in your car. Follow me out of the city. Don't stop for anything. If we get separated, you know where to go."

"What about Jonathan?" I ask, clutching Rook's hand so tightly my knuckles ache.

Reed's expression darkens. "He'll meet us there if he can."

The ominous ‘if’ hangs in the air like a storm cloud.

"Reed," Alexander says, his voice tight. "Be careful."

For a moment, something vulnerable flashes across Reed's face. "You too," he says, then turns to me. "Keep your head down, Little Omega. And take care of him." He nods toward Alexander.

Before I can respond, Reed is in the SUV, the engine roaring to life. Alexander hustles us into his car—me and Rook in the back, Frankie in the passenger seat. We pull out of the garage just behind Reed. The night swallows us as we speed away from the penthouse.

"Someone tell me what's going on," Rook demands, his arm locked protectively around my shoulders.

"I don't know the details," Alexander says, his focus on the road ahead where Reed's taillights lead us through the city streets. "But if Jonathan told us to run, it means the fathers have made their move. Probably using their connections to override the claim, possibly with legal enforcement, to back it up if we disagree."

"They're trying to take Storm," Rook guesses, his hold on me tightening. "Give her to that other pack."

Alexander nods grimly.

Fear claws at my throat, making it hard to breathe. "Where are we going?" I manage to ask.

"Somewhere safe," Alexander promises. "Somewhere they won't find us."

I want to press for more details, but the tension rolling off Alexander in waves stops me. Whatever's happening, it's bad enough to make even him—usually the calm one—scared.

We follow Reed's SUV out of the city, the gleaming towers of downtown giving way to suburbs, then to darkness as we hit the mountain roads leading away from Crescent City. The drive is mostly silent, all of us too wrapped up in our own fears to make conversation.

My scent must be broadcasting my distress because Rook pulls me closer, nuzzling the top of my head, trying to comfort me with his presence.