Chapter 61 How Am I?

Chapter 61 How Am I?
I leaned back against the headboard, staring into the swirling silver of my drink. "I feel like the lines are blurring. The Apothecary in me wants to label them—Safe, Dangerous, Toxic, Curative. But they're all of it. Malik is the medicine that tastes like copper, and Ryker is the recreational drug that's going to give me a hell of a comedown. And in the middle of it all, I'm seeing visions of the world ending in a gala dress."

Scarlet's expression softened, her sarcasm taking a backseat to the fierce loyalty I'd come to rely on. "Then we focus on the stuff we can control—the Outcast Club. Chiro's waiting for us in the stacks. He said the Codex started doing something weird when the sun hit the horizon this morning. Something about the 'Shadow-Script' bleeding."

"Bleeding?" I asked, my professional interest overriding my emotional hangover. "Like a biological reaction?"

"Like a warning," Scarlet corrected, standing up and dusting crumbs off her leggings. "So, finish your magic mint juice, put on your 'don't mess with the pharmacist' face, and let's go see if we can unlock the secrets of the universe before Malik prays himself into a coma or Ryker decides to pick a fight with a Pillar of Light just to get your attention again."

I took a long, final gulp of the Lumin, feeling the stimulant kick in. My heart rate steadied, and the bratty, defiant spark that usually kept me afloat flickered back to life. "Fine. But if I see Malik in the hall, I'm hiding behind you. I don't think I can handle his 'I have sinned' face before noon."

"Deal," Scarlet said, winking at me. "But you're buying the Amyl tonight. We're going to need it if we're surviving the seating chart for this Gala."

Scarlet’s POV

Being the only one with a functioning brain in this suite was becoming a full-time job, and let’s say the benefits package was absolute trash. I’d spent the better part of the morning watching Amaya have a slow-motion existential crisis into her mug of Lumin. Her eyes kept darting between the window—where Malik had likely performed some dramatic, feathered exit—and the specific patch of wall where Ryker had apparently tried to re-enact a high-speed construction accident using her body as the site.

"Look at you," I said, leaning against the doorframe and holding a plate of bacon like it was a holy relic of sanity. "You look like a golden chariot has run over you and then immediately tossed into a bonfire. And let me guess? You liked both. You’re a mess, Janice."

Amaya groaned, a sound that started in her toes and ended with her sinking so deep into her duvet I thought she might actually disappear into the mattress. "My internal pH is a disaster, Scarlet. My pharmacist brain is trying to categorize the last twelve hours, and all it’s coming up with is 'Incompatible Chemical Reaction: Do Not Mix.'"

"Oh, save the apothecary TED Talk for Chiro," I chirped, hopping onto the edge of her bed with enough bounce to make her wince. I snagged a piece of bacon, crunching it with a satisfied hum. "In wolf terms, doll, you didn't just break a Saint; you disassembled him like a budget Lego set. I could smell the incense and identity crisis from the hallway. And Ryker? Honey, I’ve seen alpha wolves mark territory with less aggression than that demon showed yesterday. I’m pretty sure the crystalline structure of the Chamber of Clarity is permanently laser-etched into your lower back. If I check, will I find a 'Property of Acheron' serial number?"

Amaya’s face went that delicious, high-octane shade of scarlet that always made my morning. It was a nice contrast to her 'I just saw the face of God, and he’s a terrible kisser' expression. "He was grounding!" she defended, her voice muffled by the blanket. "Malik is all high-altitude pressure and vacuum-sealed purity. I was shivering, Scarlet. I needed the fire."

"Honey, you didn't just stop the shivering; you started a three-alarm forest fire," I laughed, though I felt that sharp, jagged tug of protective instinct in my chest. I remembered the 'Double Date' joke I'd made weeks ago—back when this was all just a fun hypothetical. Now? Now she was the anchor for two of the most powerful, ego-driven males in Requiem. "But seriously, while I fully support your right to be the glorious center of a cosmic ménage à trois, we have actual problems. The Outcast Club is officially in emergency session."

I watched her sit up, the 'brat' spark finally flickering back to life in her deep brown eyes. It was about time. A depressed Amaya was a boring Amaya. "Chiro is waiting in the stacks," I said, my voice dropping the humor as the weight of the morning hit me. "The Codex is doing something weird. He says the 'Shadow-Script' is bleeding. Which, if I know my lore, usually means the book is either very angry or someone is about to die. Or both. In Salvation, it’s almost always both."

Amaya took a long, desperate gulp of her Lumin, her jaw setting in that stubborn line that told me the pharmacist was back on the clock. "Bleeding? Like a biological reaction?"

"Like a warning," I corrected, standing up and dusting bacon crumbs off my leggings. "So, finish your magic mint juice, put on your best 'don't mess with the girl who dispenses narcotics' face, and let's go. We need to unlock the secrets of the universe before Malik prays himself into a permanent coma or Ryker decides to pick a fight with a Pillar of Light to get your attention again."

As we headed out, I caught sight of our reflection in the hallway mirror. Amaya, the human catalyst who looked like she was carrying the weight of two worlds on her shoulders, and me—the wolfless freak who was finally finding a pack worth burning the world for.

"By the way," I whispered as we reached the heavy doors of the library, "if Malik tries to apologize with a psalm or a hair shirt, tell him you prefer Byron. It’ll make his wings twitch. I live for it when those big, golden wings twitch."