Amber walked towards June’s room in a daze. Buckley was dead. Buckley, her nephew, barely six years younger than she was, dead.
It was chilling. Although she hadn’t been close to him, he was still family; he was Will’s son. He was an agent, barely through the doors of the facility, and on a mission they’d sent him on, he was killed. The more she thought about it – the less “chilling” seemed to cover it.
When she finally reached the outside of June’s room and saw Will standing there, she was struck by a breeze of booze that nearly knocked her backward. Amber crinkled her nose, unable to disguise the disgust she felt towards his smell. He had clearly been drinking and smoking non-stop and probably hadn’t stopped for a shower or to brush his teeth in quite some time. It was the first time, even among the presence of so many of her siblings for the first time in years, that Amber was truly reminded of their home.
Amber was about to mention that he ought to go back to his room and clean up first when he touched the doorframe and caused it to splinter. She sucked in a surprised breath and closed her eyes—even if the ire wasn’t directed at her, it was an impulse response.
When he walked into June’s room, Amber hesitated before following in after, and shutting the door behind her.
How does this work?
Amber narrowed her eyes. How could he have been so good with Cinnamon and Bambi and yet so clueless with June? Finding her nerve, Amber stepped around her brother and made her way to June and tenderly put her arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly while tightening her grip.