Page 27 of Run Omega Run
I pulled on my running clothes, laced up my shoes and headed for the front door, opening it and slipping out into darkness that wrapped around me like a familiar embrace. The night air was cool against my face, carrying scents of distant rain and construction dust, and as my feet found their rhythm I breathed in relief.
Running past homes where families slept behind windows that glowed with security lights, past empty lots where buildings used to stand before the earthquake taught us that nothing was permanent, past construction sites where crews had left equipment that looked like sleeping titans in the darkness.
The running helped, the way it always did. My body felt tired and achy, yet free. Each footfall was a beat that matched my pulse, each breath a reminder that my body was still strong even when my spirit felt broken. The physical exhaustion that built in my legs and lungs left less room for the emotional exhaustion that threatened to drown me when I stayed still too long.
I ran past the hospital where Mom had spent the morning fighting for breath, past the school that had been torn down and never rebuilt because the neighborhood couldn't support the tax base necessary for proper education.
But my feet carried me inevitably toward the restaurant, in the district where businesses that survived the earthquake were slowly rebuilding. Most of the buildings showed signs of repair, with new windows fitted into old frames, fresh paint over patched walls, signage that promised normalcy even in the middle of reconstruction.
I slowed as I approached Dante's restaurant, drawn by warm light that spilled out onto the sidewalk through windows that had been recently cleaned. The building looked solid, prosperous in a way that spoke of owners who cared about both the food they served and the space where they served it.
Through the large front window, I could see them sitting around a table in the dining area. Four men who had somehow become central to my thoughts in ways I was afraid to examine too closely. Bennett sat with his back straight, his posture suggesting he was running some kind of meeting or discussion. Dante had his sleeves rolled up, gesturing animatedly as he spoke about something that was making the others laugh. Angus took up twice as much space as anyone else, his bulk somehow projecting comfort rather than intimidation. Cole sat slightly apart, listening more than speaking, but clearly part of whatever conversation was unfolding.
They looked like what they were—a pack, a family, a group of people who supported each other through whatever challenges life presented. There was an ease in their interaction that spoke of years of trust, shared decisions, and loyalty that didn't need to be proven.
I pressed my palm against the cool glass of the window, watching them through barriers that suddenly felt both enormous and insignificant. They were so close I could have knocked on the glass and caught their attention, but they felt as distant as stars, visible but unreachable, beautiful but belonging to a different world entirely.
Dante looked up from whatever he was saying, his eyes moving toward the window as if he'd sensed my presence. For a moment, our gazes met through the glass, and I saw recognition flare in his expression, followed by something that might have been an invitation. He rose from his chair, probably intending to come outside and talk, to ask what I was doing running alone through empty streets at an hour when most sensible people were asleep.
But I stepped back from the window, giving him a small smile that I hoped conveyed gratitude, without promising anything I wasn't ready to give. Then I turned and continued running, letting my feet carry me back into the darkness where I belonged, leaving behind the warm light and the sense of belonging that felt too good to be real.
Because real life was waiting for me in a building held together by stubbornness and hope, full of children who needed someone to be strong for them and a dying woman who wanted me to save myself instead of everyone else.
Chapter 12
Heather
The morning light filtering through our cracked windows felt different somehow, softer than it had in weeks. I was looking forward to seeing the pack, anticipating their arrival being the start of something new, the repair of the old and the birth of something more than the cold reality I’d been living in.
I stood at the stove stirring porridge that actually had enough oats to be substantial, thanks to Becky's groceries, while the children gathered around our mismatched table with an energy I hadn't seen since before Mom got sick. Even the familiar creaks and groans of our settling building seemed less ominous today, more like the comfortable sighs of an old friend than warnings of impending collapse.
"Miss Heather," Loubie Lou announced solemnly, clutching her one-eared rabbit against her chest, "Bunny says the porridge smells goooood!"
I smiled despite the exhaustion that still clung to me from last night's run. "Well, you tell Bunny that there's plenty for everyone today. Even seconds if anyone wants them."
The children's faces lit up at the prospect of seconds. Manny arranged his truck beside his bowl, its grinding wheels somehow less mournful in the cheerful morning atmosphere. Denson hadbrought his collection of smooth stones to breakfast, arranging them in precise patterns, while Susie groaned a lot, even for a teenager.
I ladled the porridge into bowls, watching their faces transform with the simple joy of having enough. This was what mattered, I reminded myself. Not my racing pulse when I thought about dark eyes and peppermint scents, not the way Dante's marshmallow warmth had made me feel protected in ways I'd forgotten were possible. These children, this moment of peace mattered.
The empty porridge pot needed washing, and the rubbish bin had been overflowing since yesterday's crisis had interrupted all my usual routines. I gathered the bag and lugged it outside.
"I'll be right back," I told the children, who were already absorbed in animated discussions about whether Angus's accent made him sound like a pirate, and whether Cole's serious expression meant he was secretly a superhero.
The morning air hit me like a cool blessing as I stepped outside, lifting the burden of household debris toward the bins at the side of our building. My feet had barely found their rhythm when a familiar scent cut through the morning breeze—sharp peppermint mixed with something that made my pulse quicken involuntarily.
