Page 56 of Strays
I stall, taking my time in the shower, but I’m still ready early, so I sprawl out on the couch and turn the TV on, zoning out immediately.
First day at the new station. This past week felt like a fantasy, something so good it can’t possibly last. Part of me is actually relieved to go back to the hard reality of a PD. It’ll make things feel more real, like I won’t wake up any second back in our old apartment downtown Greenster.
By eight, we’re already in the truck, heading out.
When we reach the station’s street, the building is easy to spot. It’s definitely bigger than the one back in Greenster, but PD buildings always have the same institutional look. The station sits on the corner of a wide intersection, a two-story concrete building with plain brick siding. A short flight of steps leading to double glass doors beneath a flat overhang marks the front entrance. Above it, a standard city seal reads: “Great Sky Police Department—Division 2.”
We park the truck on a side street. It’s not nine yet, but staying in the car makes no sense, so we head to the front entrance and walk in together. After a week of being completely relaxed around Jo, we put our guards back up fast and easy. Back to pack rule number one: always show up as a unit.
Inside, the lobby is tight, with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. There’s a front desk behind thick glass, and a receptionist half-hidden behind her terminal. A couple of officers linger near the far wall, sipping coffee and pretending not to watch us.
I realize something’s different.
The smells, every single one of them, are sharper than I’ve ever sensed. I stop walking, and feel my brothers halt, too. Both have their nostrils flared, brows drawn in confusion.
“What the hell?” Shane mutters, looking between me and Jay.
A strong sense of smell comes with being an aegis, but this is something else. I’m not just picking up the usual crowded-hallway mess of sweat, metal, and soap: I can follow the threads. I can separate them.
There’s a middle-aged woman sitting ten feet away, her hands still faintly scented with garlic. The man beside her reeks of alcohol and sex, sweat and body fluids, stale and clinging. The coffee those officers are sipping has a burned undertone, like it was brewed from over-roasted beans.
So this is how it starts. Our bond with Jo is already working on us.
Jay must’ve reached the same conclusion, because he answers Shane’s question with a mutter. “We’re changing.”
We can’t help but smile at each other. Almost every eye in the station is on us now, probably wondering why we froze in the middle of the lobby like someone hit pause. I shake it off and step up to the desk.
The receptionist blinks at me, startled, and her eyes go wide. She glances toward the two officers like she’s silently asking for backup.
Yeah, I know that kind of human too well. If the real estate agent type wants us for the whole "aegis can’t control themselves" fantasy, this one’s scared of us for the exact same reason. Like we’re one wrong breath away from jumping the counter and tearing her clothes off.
I hear Shane and Jay sigh behind me, both annoyed. The two officers cross the room fast, shoulders squared, chests puffed, ready to play hero. I’ve seen this exact scene too many times to care.
“Larsen pack,” I say flatly. “Transferred in. Reporting for High-Risk Operations.”
She tears her gaze off us and looks down at her screen, tapping something, then picks up the desk phone and dials, her voice a little shaky. “Hi, this is front desk. The aegis unit just arrived.” A pause. Then: “Yeah. They’re here.”
She hangs up and stares at a point somewhere around my throat, avoiding my eyes. “Someone’ll come get you.”
I nod and we step aside, but we don’t wait long. A man comes through the double doors, uniform crisp, posture solid. Not big like us, but tall for a human.
“Larsens?” he asks when he’s close.
I nod.
He doesn’t offer a handshake. “Sergeant Wilsbone. Come with me.”
We follow him through the doors and down a narrow corridor. His voice carries back over his shoulder. “High-Risk Unit’s in the back of the station. We’re not large, so we don’t have much space. We share locker rooms and the break room with regular officers.”
We pass a small steel door marked HIGH-RISK UNIT - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY in stenciled black paint. The sergeant swipes a card to unlock it and pushes through without looking back.
At the end of the hallway, he steps into a cramped office, and we follow. He takes his seat behind the desk. There’s only one chair on our side, so we stay standing.
“I’m not gonna lie to you,” he says. “Sending us a temp aegis unit is some bullshit I didn’t ask for. If I had to deal with your kind, I’d rather it be the ones assigned here permanently. But for now I’m stuck with you, so we’ll make it work.”
Feels like Greenster all over again. Back there, Balls hated us because we were strays. Thought we were inferior because of it. He wanted prime material and got us instead. Now this guy’s bitter because we won’t stay.
Jay’s already pushing soothing pheromones into the air. I follow, mostly for Shane’s sake, because honestly, I don’t give a shit how this guy feels about us. Like he said, we’re not here for long.
