Page 3 of Claimed By the Alien Warlord

He nods, his smile never wavering. “You’ll make it right. I know you will.”

I turn and head back to the POS, the bag of meds feeling heavier than it should. I climb in and sit there for a moment, the dam finally breaking as I let out the stress in a flood of tears. Minutes pass, my shoulders shaking as I cry into the steering wheel, the sound of the engine ticking as it cools the only thing keeping me company.

Eventually, I scrub my face with my sleeve, take a deep breath, and start the car. Time to go home.

The POS wheezes to a stop in the driveway, and I take a deep breath before grabbing the bag of meds and heading inside. The front door creaks like it’s protesting my existence, and I step into the living room to find my mom on the floor, one leg stretched up in the air like she’s auditioning for Cirque du Soleil.

“Hi honey,” she says, her voice calm, like this is perfectly normal. “I was just doing some yoga.”

I drop the meds on the couch and cross my arms. “Mom, don’t lie to me. You fell again. Why didn’t you use your medical alert alarm?”

She glances at the device hanging around her neck and sighs. “It costs a hundred dollars every time they send someone out to get me back up. Besides, I knew you would be home soon.”

“That’s not the point.” I kneel down and loop an arm around her shoulders, helping her sit up. “What if I wasn’t? You can’t just—ugh, never mind. Let’s get you off the floor.”

She winces as I hoist her to her feet, her walker toppled nearby like a monument to her stubbornness. I right it andguide her to the couch, where she sinks into the cushions with a grateful sigh.

“Now stay put while I figure out dinner.” I head to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for something edible. Half a box of pasta, a can of diced tomatoes, and some spices. Good enough.

“How’d the job hunt go?” Mom calls from the living room.

I pretend to focus on the pot of boiling water. “Good. Couple of promising leads. Should hear back soon.”

“That’s wonderful, honey.” Her voice is bright, and I feel a pang of guilt for lying. I’ll tell her the truth eventually, but right now, she doesn’t need to worry about me.

Dinner’s a quiet affair—pasta with a makeshift tomato sauce that tastes better than it has any right to. Mom eats every bite, and I count that as a win. After, I make sure she takes her meds, the pills lined up on the table like little soldiers ready for battle.

“All set,” she says, swallowing the last one with a sip of water. “Thanks, sweetie.”

I help her to bed, tucking her in like she’s a kid instead of the other way around. “Sleep well, Mom.”

“You too, Reily.” She smiles, , I feel like maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

I flop onto the living room couch, my body sinking into the worn cushions. My eyes drift shut, and for the first time all day, I let myself relax.

Which, of course, is when the doorbell rings.

I groan, dragging myself to my feet. “If this is Boris and Barfbag, I’m setting The POS on fire.”

The doorbell screeches again, like a cat being strangled, and I yank the door open, ready to unleash hell.

I yank the door open, ready to unleash hell, but instead, I find Clem and Seabus standing there, looking like they just lost a fight with a tornado. Clem’s flannel shirt is rumpled, his Skoalcap crooked, and Seabus is pacing behind him, his face red and his hands clenched into fists.

“He’s finally done it,” Clem says, his voice shaking. “He’s gone too far this time.”

Seabus spits on the ground, narrowly missing my porch. “Rich sonofabitch.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you two talking about? What’s Irons done now?”

Clem takes a step closer, his broad shoulders hunched. “He’s applied for a permit to build a hydroelectric dam on Silver Stream.”

“Silver Stream?” My stomach drops. That river is the lifeblood of Coldwater’s tourism. People come from all over to fish, kayak, and camp along its banks. “You’re kidding.”

Seabus shakes his head, his tattoos gleaming under the porch light. “Wish we were. Dam’s gonna make the river unusable for recreation. And it’ll flood Mirror Lake.”

“That’s insane!” I explode, my hands flying to my head. “Mirror Lake’s one of the most popular spots in Dawson Park. Tourists love it. Businesses depend on it. He can’t just?—”

“He can,” Clem interrupts, his voice hollow. “And he will. He won’t be happy until he kills the entire town.”

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