line

melled of lemon polis

d, pushing his glasses up. He was human,

. "Rejection Papers.

n't like this.

re," I interrupted. "

he could argue

I had spent the morning brewing a recovery soup-bone bro

o the Pac

iet. Nurses nodded

ore I could turn the ha

es and rotting

s voice came from i

through t

d up on pillows, looking like a tragic

man too busy for

lake," Ariana wh

. "You know why I became a neurosurgeon? W

hy

you wouldn't live past twenty. I honed my control, my Alpha energy, specifica

slipped from

an

head snapped t

ra

gasping for air, unti

a healer

esk. A stack of papers sat there

Treasury - Auth

erenity Privat

t: $5

by: Alpha B

t was a luxur

Ariana Whitfield. Reason: S

aking money meant for border defenses and the orph

me. I wasn't a wife; I wa

d out m

said when the

tch living on the fringes, soun

still have contacts in the S

l's territory. He's a hardliner

ezzlement form. "I'm a damn good architect

Bla

," I said. The words

purpose belongs to another. Sto

on: -5

nd Integri

lled soup on the floor. Let s