Page 29 of Rook

“Green,” I chuckle, thinking back. “Green and peaceful. Lots of rain, football in the streets, and mums calling their kids in for dinner.” I shrug. “Simple times, I guess.”

She sets her own controller aside and turns to face me, interest piquing her grey eyes. “Tell me more. What’s your story, Rook?”

Her question hangs there, thick as fog, and I can see the edges of her past shadowing her features. She’s heard tales of the old world but never lived them—she went straight from some hippie cult to the nightmare of Dreamland. For a moment, I see the chasm between us—not just in experiences, but in the worlds we were born into.

“Story’s dull as dishwater,” I deflect with a smirk, but she’s not having any of my usual deflections tonight.

“Try me.” Her challenge is gentle, but insistent. “I want to know who I’m sitting next to.”

“Alright then.” I lean back, one arm stretching along the back of the couch, not quite touching her. “Born and raised in a place called Cork. Middle child of five. My da was a mechanic, ma a teacher. We were…normal, you know? No omegas, no alphas. Just people getting on with it.”

“Sounds quaint,” she says softly, and there’s a hint of wistfulness in her tone that makes my chest tighten.

“Quaint’s one word for it,” I reply, my thoughts drifting. “Had my share of trouble, but nothing like the chaos these days.”

“Trouble?” The way she says it, like she’s digging for treasure in a minefield, brings me back to the here and now.

“Kid stuff,” I lie smoothly, feeling the weight of my real past lurking just beneath the surface. The night presses against the windows, an audience waiting for a confession that won’t come. “I always wanted more, so I sold drugs—just little things, weed, coke, LSD every so often.”

“Right…kid stuff,“ she quips. “Everyone has skeletons, Rook. I mean—I grew up in a commune-turned-cult. Who gets to be a kid in this world?”

“Guess you’re right,” I concede, meeting her gaze. “Anyway, I got into chemistry—because I wanted to make my own LSD at first, and then because it interested me. Figured I’d make something of myself, you know? Went to university, landed a decent gig at a state lab.”

“That’s what you said,” she murmurs. “Smart cookie.”

I laugh. “I suppose—and for a while, I played the part. White coat, safety goggles, the whole nine yards.”

“Then?” Her word hangs, poised between curiosity and dread.

“Then I fucked it all up.” The words spill out before I can stop them, each syllable tasting like ash.

“Rook…” She doesn’t finish, just gives me that look. Like she’s seen the layers peel back and found something raw underneath.

“Sold drugs as a kid, thought I was done with it,” I confess, ignoring the way her brows knit together. “But habits die hard, and when you’re in a state lab full of prototype suppressants…”

“Suppressants?” Her tone shifts, an edge creeping into it now. “You mean…”

“Yep.” I pop the ‘p’, a hollow sound in the silence. “Started shifting product on the side. Made a killing until I didn’t.”

“Shit.” She whistles low, the sound a sharp note in the room. “High stakes, high falls.”

“Something like that.” I toss the unopened soda onto the coffee table, a clatter in the quiet night. “Got greedy, got sloppy. They caught me red-handed.”

Aisling shakes her head, grey eyes flickering with understanding—it’s hard to tell. “What happened after they caught you?”

“Let’s just say I’m not their favorite former employee.” I let out a dry laugh, devoid of humor.

Her hand inches closer to mine, a silent offer of solidarity. I don’t take it, instead staring at the dark TV screen, where our forgotten avatars wait for a command that won’t come.

“Caught me smack in the middle of a handoff with the Bluestockings.” The words tumble out, reckless.

“What’s that?”

“Radical omega group,” I clarify, watching her reaction. “Had ideas about liberating suppressants for the masses. I was just the chemistry guy who saw dollar signs.”

She doesn’t say anything for a beat, studying me like she’s trying to read between the lines. Then, “Sounds risky. Dealing with them, I mean. But…you were doing something to help people like me. That took guts.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Wasn’t bravery, Aisling. It was pure, uncut selfishness.”

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