The car door closes behind us, and the night wraps around us like a cold, living thing. Frost clings to the edges of the streetlights, making them haloed and soft.
Our breath clouds in the air, brief ghosts that vanish as quickly as they appear.
Deniz's hand is still in mine. Warm. Solid. Fingers laced like they've found where they belong.
"Let's go," he says softly, and tugs me gently toward his apartment building.
I follow. Silent. My cheeks burn despite the cold, my mind a tangled knot of guilt.
Why did I ask that stupid question? Why couldn't I just let it go? He told me he's a Beta.
The doctors said so. Why do I keep picking at something I don't understand?
The lobby is warm, a sharp contrast to the winter outside. It's crowded—of course it is.
A cluster of residents gathers near the elevators, their conversations a low, indistinct murmur. Deniz leads us to the edge of the crowd, and we wait.
