Page 56 of Knot Your Sugar

She doesn’t reply, but I hear retreating footsteps and the sound of her muttering (something about irresponsible late-night oven usage and now morning fires) until her voice fades entirely.

As silence returns, I turn back to the wreckage on my counter.

My toaster: a casualty of poor wiring.

My favorite box of cinnamon crunch cereal: a smoky mess.

And my DuoBlocks...

My fingers tremble as I sift through the remains.

Burned. Destroyed. Every last one. Gone.

Except… my gaze flies to my small table in the living room. And there they are. The two little blue pills I’d set out just before Pierre called. Two. Only two.

"Okay, Elena, don’t panic," I tell myself, my voice a shaky whisper. "It’s okay. It’s fine." I snatch up my phone, my fingers already dialing the number for the local pharmacy.

"Rosy, how can I help you?"

"Hi, I need an emergency refill of DuoBlocks, please. It’s… urgent."

A sympathetic sigh from the other end. "Oh, I am so sorry. Even with a prescription, we’re totally out. Festival week, you know? It’s like a run on toilet paper before a pandemic. Everyone stocks up."

My stomach clenches. "Out? Completely? Do you know when you’ll get more?"

"Our next shipment isn’t due until Monday, dear."

Monday. The festival endstomorrow, on Sunday.

I try four pharmacies in the neighboring towns. All the same story. Depleted. Sold out. No DuoBlocks or even suppressants to be had for love or money in a fifty-mile radius.

I sink onto a kitchen stool, staring at the two small, innocent-looking blue pills on my table. My entire supply. Two days of the festival left. Today, and the final tomorrow.

"It’s fine," I say aloud, trying to inject a conviction I absolutely do not feel into my voice. "It’s completely fine. One pill today, one pill tomorrow. That was my old dose anyway. It’ll be enough. Ithasto be enough."

I swallow today’s pill with a gulp of lukewarm coffee, trying to ignore the voice in the back of my mind whispering that my body is already responding to the alphasevenwiththe medication. That a single dose might not be enough to keep the…symptoms… at bay.

I push the voice away and begin the messy task of cleaning up. The kitchen counter itself is surprisinglyalmostintact (thank goodness for protective finishes), unlike my peace of mind…

I take a deep breath.

I can't let this throw me off. I’ve handled worse. Icanhandle this. I just need to stay focused. Positive.

And maybe avoid standing too close to some alphas…

* * *

The chime of the bell above The Daily Grind's door is a welcome sound. Mia, bless her punctual heart, has already claimed our usual cozy corner table, two steaming mugs of what smells like heavenly hazelnut latte already waiting. Her eyes light up when she spots me, then her perfectly sculpted nose wrinkles in confusion.

"Whoa, Elena! Rough morning? Were you attacked by a rogue chimney? You kind of smell like smoke."

I manage a weak grimace as I slide into the seat opposite her. "You could say that. Small kitchen fire. My toaster decided to stage a pretty dramatic protest this morning."

"Oh my God! Are you okay?" Genuine concern flashes across her face, chasing away the teasing glint. "Was it bad? Is the apartment alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. No major damage," I say, deliberately downplaying the incident, and definitely not mentioning the tragic demise of my entire DuoBlocks supply. "Just lost my trusty toaster and a full box of Cinnamon Crunch. I’m kind of bummed about the cereal, actually. It was the limited-edition holiday flavor."

"Oh, thank God it wasn’t worse!" Mia says, visibly relieved. She studies me more closely then, her eyes narrowing with that familiar perception that always makes me feel like she can see straight into my soul. "But wait a minute… there’s something else. Beyond the faint aroma of burnt breakfast. You’re… you’re practicallyglowing, Elena. What gives?"

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