Page 50 of Storm
He ducks his head, that familiar blush returning. "Yeah, I, um, I always carry a deck. Force of habit, I guess."
I find myself smiling despite everything. "I'd love to play."
Ten minutes later, I have on Rook’s oversized hoodie and some fluffy socks. We're settled in the large living room, a safe distance apart, as Frankie shuffles the cards with practiced ease. I recognize the deck immediately—red and gold, with a tiny nick in one corner and a slightly bent ace of spades. These are the same cards we've always played with.
"Wait," I say, reaching out to touch the deck. "These are the same cards from the Omega House."
Frankie nods, a small smile playing at his lips. "They've always been mine. The Omega House never provided cards or games. I brought these from home with me when I moved to the Omega House."
The realization hits me like a physical blow. All those nights we played cards, all those games that kept me sane. They were only possible because Frankie brought his own personal deck. Because he cared enough to try to make that place bearable.
"I never knew," I murmur, watching his fingers shuffle with practiced ease.
I’ve beenat the Omega House for exactly nineteen days, and I’m already losing my mind. The walls are too white, the rules too strict, the future too bleak. I pace my room for hours until they finally let me into the rec room early, before breakfast is served.
The room is empty, except for a young beta guard sitting alone at a table. He’s shuffling a deck of cards, his movements rhythmic and precise. Something about the simple, repetitive motion calms the storm in my chest.
I flop down in the chair across from him without invitation. He startles so badly he drops half the deck.
“Sorry,” I mumble—not feeling sorry at all. The guards keep us in. And I want out.
“I—I shouldn’t be sitting here. I’m sorry,” he stammers, scrambling to gather the fallen cards. His cheeks flush a deep pink. I get this feeling he isn’t like the other guards. This one seems sweet.
“I’m Storm,” I say, introducing myself.
“I—I know who you are,” he swallows, his eyes darting to mine, then around the room before landing on the cards in front of him.
“And you are?” I prompt, raising an eyebrow.
“Frankie,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Frankie Calloway.”
He makes a sound in the back of his throat.
“I don’t. I’m not allowed… I don’t think…”
“Well, Frankie Calloway,” I interrupt, ignoring what I know he’s about to say—that he can’t talk to me. I don’t think he’s supposed to give me his full name either. But fuck the rules.
I lean forward. His eyes snap to mine, and I smile. “Do you know how to play gin rummy?”
He blinks at me, clearly surprised by the question. “Y-yes?”
“Good,” I declare, “because I’m bored out of my skull, and if I don’t do something besides stare at these white walls, I’m going to lose what’s left of my mind.”
He hesitates, glancing over his shoulder like he’s expecting someone to stop him. “I don’t know if we’re allowed to?—”
“To what? Play cards? Is that against the rules, too?” I challenge.
“No, I just... we’re not supposed to fraternize with the omegas.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a card game, not a marriage proposal.”
That makes him laugh—a short, startled sound that transforms his whole face. Suddenly, he’s not just a nervous beta guard—he’s a handsome guy with kind eyes and a nice smile. Someone who could be a real friend.
“Okay,” he says, beginning to deal the cards. “But if I get in trouble…”
“I’ll tell them I threatened you,” I promise solemnly, crossing my heart with my finger.
His eyes widen. “Did you?”
