On the causeways, Shepherd's Followers marched, hyper-vigilant. Corday made sure to keep his head down, to bypass all screening. Several people were pulled aside at random. That was nothing new, but that day Shepherd's men seemed only to target women—pulling off scarves, exposing covered hair, sniffing them up close. A few Alpha females grew riled. As it continued, even Betas began to show their teeth.

Messing with women was a sure way to start another round of riots. The females alone, Alphas especially, would react instinctively. If their children were near, they might be even more aggressive. Then there were their mates. Alpha or Beta, no one liked to see their woman harassed.

The air was tense as he passed by mob after mob. Corday was eager to return to the skittish Omega with his freshly gathered supplies.

She was awake, her head turning toward the door the instant she heard his key in the lock. When it was only the Enforcer offering a calming smile, Claire let out a breath and shook her head, as if she felt her reaction had been foolish.

Showing his worn catch, Corday said, "I found some shoes that might fit you."

"Those aren't very pretty," she tried to banter, but her voice came out flat, and what should have been funny was unnerving. Claire tried again, forcing inflection and a smile. "Thank you."

"It's Thursday. The power will be on in this zone tonight." He locked the door and set the shoes on the floor near the woman. "Rather than just watching the paint peel, I have a collection of old films. If you like, we can watch one."

"Okay."

While Claire pulled the new shoes over borrowed, stinking socks, Corday took a seat at the far end of the couch, the pair of them like mismatched bookends. He lifted the remote. When the screen came to life, all that played was the Thólos Interdome Broadcast. Unfamiliar correspondents looped every five minutes, detailing which sectors would receive fresh rations the following day, locations of supply pick up points, faces of wanted criminals.

Claire heard nothing, the entirety of her attention was on the date stamped at the corner of the screen. "Five weeks..."

Corday didn't need to be a genius to grasp what the woman had muttered. Five weeks, that was how long she'd been trapped.

She was trying to hide her horror, so Corday inserted the stick that held his precious films and chose something lighthearted most people would recognize. It worked. Thirty minutes in and Claire's shoulders lost their rigidness.

"I used to watch this with my dad when I was a kid," she offered, glancing at him with a small, half-felt smirk. "He loved this movie."

Corday gave her a crooked grin. "Your dad sounds like he has excellent taste."

"He did," Claire agreed, her face less tragic. "He was a really funny guy. Sooo Alpha, though."