Page 40 of Rook

Gunnar, my mate, the one who should defend us, now possibly our enemy? It’s a pill too jagged to swallow.

“Vance,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel, “if this is some kind of power play, what’s our move?”

“Survive,” he says flatly. “Stay one step ahead. And remember, Aisling, in this game, everyone’s playing for keeps.”

The neon signs flash their sordid promises as the car snakes through Oasis, a palace of opulence perched on a rotten core. I press my face to the cool glass of the window, streaks of color blurring together in a dizzying dance of decadence.

“Can you believe this place?” Oberon murmurs, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the bustling streets outside.

“Too much,” I say, barely above a breath. “It’s all…it’s too much.”

“Glitter hiding grime?” he suggests, his voice low and laced with unease.

“Exactly,” I breathe out, my gaze snagging on a group of scantily clad omegas on a street corner, their bodies commodities under the harsh glow of street lamps. “It’s like Dreamland, Oberon. All these sparkling lights, they’re just a facade. Behind them, there’s nothing but ugliness—businesses that trade pleasure for vice.”

Oberon gazes at me, the dim light from the passing signs casting shadows across his face. “We’re not part of that world anymore, Aisling. You know that, right?”

“Knowing and feeling are two different beasts,” I admit, pulling back from the window, the warmth of Oberon’s presence a stark contrast to the chill of the glass. “Dreamland never really leaves you, does it? It’s always there, lurking in places like this, ready to drag you back under.”

“Hey.” Oberon’s hand finds mine, his touch grounding. “We’ll get through this.”

I nod, squeezing his hand, but can’t quite shake the feeling that we’ve stepped into a viper’s nest, where every glint is the flicker of fangs and every shadow might be our undoing.

The car rolls to a stop. The city pulses like a beast with neon veins, the heat entombing me in glittering sweat. I shove the door open, stepping onto the sidewalk, feeling the grit under my heels.

“Vance,” I start, crossing my arms as he joins me outside the vehicle, his presence a towering contrast to the chaos around us. “This place…it feels wrong.”

“Oasis isn’t Dreamland,” Vance counters, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, eyes scanning the crowd with a practiced ease. “And Inari…she’s not what you’d expect from an omega running this show.”

“An omega?” I echo, my brow furrowing. “In charge?”

“Exactly.” Vance nods, leaning closer. His scent—a mix of leather and something sharply citrus—cuts through the contaminated air. “Inari’s different. She looks out for her own. Keeps the wolves at bay.”

“Protects the women?” I say, skepticism lacing my tone. “From what? Themselves?”

“From becoming just another product on these streets,” he says, gesturing toward a neon sign flickering above a doorway. “She gives them a choice, a way to stand on their own.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, letting his words sink in. The concept of Inari is a patchwork of contradictions stitched together by Vance’s conviction. But this world has taught me that nothing is ever black or white, just shades of survival.

“Can’t be that simple, Vance,” I reply, shaking my head slightly. “Choices in places like this…they’re usually just illusions.”

He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe. But sometimes, Aisling, even an illusion can give hope where there’s none. And that’s a damn sight better than no choice at all.”

“Hope…” I murmur, watching the faces in the crowd. They’re searching for something, maybe the same mirage Vance is talking about.

“Let’s get inside,” Vance says, gesturing toward the entrance of our temporary refuge. “We’ve got allies to meet and plans to make.”

“Right,” I mutter, but as I follow him, the weight of Dreamland’s memory presses close, a reminder that hope is often the most dangerous game to play.

The neon signs of Oasis bleed into the twilight sky as we walk toward the Bellanova—Inari Toure’s base of operations, and the crown jewel of the city. The hotel gleams like a diamond, and bellhops materialize at the doors before the engine even cools. They’re all crisp uniforms and practiced smiles, reaching for our bags with hands that have been extended to a thousand other travelers.

“Welcome to the Bellanova,” one says, tipping his hat. It’s choreographed hospitality, and it sets my teeth on edge.

“Never had this kind of reception,” I mutter to Oberon, watching them unload our things with robotic precision. “Reminds me too much of New Eden.”

Oberon’s hand finds mine, a quiet anchor amid the chaos. “Yeah, but last time, you didn’t have me with you.” His voice is steady, but I can hear the hard edge beneath, the promise that he’ll tear worlds apart before letting that happen again.

“True,” I agree, squeezing his hand back, trying to ignore the way my pulse races, a mix of fear and something darker. “But it doesn’t make the memories any less bitter.”

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