APEX

Ch. 14: Optics

Calla

Jackson proved to be an expert driver but a terrible conversationalist. My mother, insisting that only a shifter could adequately protect me "in light of recent events," had hired a werewolf chauffeur this time. Never mind that I'd handled the bombing on Neutral Isle on my own, save for Rhys's hand bursting through a window. And as for the bookstore brawl, it was safe to say I was never the target.

We sped along the busy streets of Apex's financial district, already abuzz with recently caffeinated young professionals in business attire. They strutted down the pristinely landscaped boulevards like this place had been created just for them. I tapped my head against the leather headrest and braced myself. After two days off, surely a mile-high pile of work awaited me, but even that seemed preferable to trying to make small talk with Jackson, a man of so few words, I began to suspect he was a robot in need of a personality upgrade.

"Have you worked for Crown for very long?" I asked him.

"Nah."

"What did you do before being hired?"

"Masonry."

"Masonry?" Wow. Three whole syllables. "Like building brick walls? That sounds interesting."

"Nah."

"I see. Thank you for the insight into your former profession." It went on like that until I finally told him I needed to make a call and then rolled up the privacy glass.

For the first time ever, I felt a sense of relief when Apex's shiny building came into view. There was nothing wrong with Jackson per say, but he acted as a stodgy and anti-social reminder that the amicable Neil had been badly injured, all because I had insisted on going into enemy territory to prove a point. If my mom hadn't been so adamant, I would have continued to take rideshares around Sury. But the violence of the past several days had shaken her. If I had to put up with Jackson for a while to ease her mind, then so be it.

I climbed out of the car as soon as it pulled to a stop, giving Jackson a wave that he didn't return and was immediately struck with the familiar scent of an Apex wolf. Earthy, rich, with a hint of oak.

"You're back," Rhys said as he approached.

"You're...waiting for me? Why?"

He gave me an easy grin, but his eyes darted up and down the street and he placed a hand on my back, ushering me towards the building's entrance. "My father thought we should be a bit cautious."

"Your father, huh? Does that mean he's put Aamon on house arrest until he can act his age?"

Rhys chuckled. "He'd never see the outside world again." He held the door for me, and we walked into the bright interior of Apex HQ.

"Notwithstanding my brother's standard level of assholery, in this case, I must ask: what's the big deal? Aamon acted in self-defense—everyone who witnessed it says so. He even made sure to subdue his assailant without using excessive force."

What twisted world was this guy living in? "There was an excessive amount of blood forced out of him, Rhys."

"Bottom line: Ammon could have but didn't kill him."

"Trevor Daniels, our full moon victim, wasn't killed either and look at the fallout. How do you think that scene plays out for people who were already on the fence about us, Rhys? I mean, sure, the humans in the bookstore are team Aamon. Did you know they call themselves Aamonatics?"

"Aamonatics have been around for years. You didn't know?"

"I didn't know how far it had gone. He's built himself a cult of personality. If he'd acted maliciously instead of out of self-defense, they still would have made excuses for his actions. Aamonatics aren't the ones we need to win over, though." I nodded a greeting to the receptionists, who smiled politely before batting their eyelashes and waving to Rhys. "And as for that, taking down a would-be assailant is one thing. Bashing his face into a metal bookstand not once, but eight times?"