Alpha’s Forbidden Mate
She shoved aside yesterday’s fingerprints of jam, keyed in the passcode—Xander’s own middle name, which she used as leverage every time they fought—and opened the daily feed.
It was mostly trash, as always, but deep in a tangle of market codes and manifestos, a new package had posted. North of the river, on the far side of the arc-light perimeter, someone was trading in “authentic pre-blight pharmaceuticals,” and using a tag that pinged Carolina’s teeth with recognition.
Xander, at the stove, coaxing heat from a coil patched together with copper wire and an old fountain pen, heard her bring up the file. The keyboard made a peeled, insectile chime every time she hit enter. “Car, what is it?”
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