Page 54 of Nitro

I glanced at my wristwatch, noting that lunchtime was coming to a close.

Passing by a familiar broom closet door, I shook my head in silent frustration.

How many times had I walked this route? Sooner or later, I had to face reality and reach out to either Nitro or Whizz.

What if something genuinely bad had happened to my best friend, and my stubbornness was preventing me from seeking real help?

Checking my cellphone once more, I found no new messages. Taking a deep breath, I decided to try calling Dylan again.

Halting in my footsteps, I strained my ears, the corridor eerily quiet now that the lunchtime excitement had dwindled.

There it was. At first, I thought I had imagined the sound, but I could unmistakably hear Dylan's familiar ringtone.

The relief that flooded through me was palpable, and I quickly followed the sound to its source.

Finally, I stood in front of the same broom closet I passed earlier, gripping my cellphone tightly in my hand.

How had I missed this earlier?

I swallowed nervously, my mind racing with unsettling possibilities.

What if I opened the door and found it empty, save for Dylan's phone?

Even worse, what if Dylan was... was what? There was no use waiting for answers. I needed to act.

I tried the knob, but the door was locked. Cursing under my breath, frustration fueling my determination, I applied more force.

Omega shifters might be weaker than their alpha counterparts, but I was still stronger than an average human.

I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and with a forceful push of my shoulder, finally forced the door open.

My heart raced as I entered the cramped space of the broom closet. There, sprawled on the floor, was Dylan—pale and unconscious.

He looked like a lifeless doll someone had propped up in there.

A jolt of fear surged through me, and I rushed to his side, my hands shaking as I checked for signs of life.

I pressed two fingers against the side of Dylan's neck. Relief washed over me as I found a pulse.

Dylan was alive! Pulling my fingers away, I noticed they came away with blood.

Not a lot, but enough to stir a knot of worry. It was time to stop playing solo detective and call for real help.

I took out my cellphone and immediately contacted Whizz.

"Tommy? Why are you calling? Did something happen to Dylan?" Whizz's voice came through urgently.

"Whizz," I whispered, trying to steady my voice. "We need help. Dylan's been attacked, but by what or who, I don't know yet."

My words spilled out in a rush, and I wasn't sure if Whizz could fully grasp the situation.

"Where are you two? Are you hurt?" Whizz demanded.

"No, I'm fine. I found Dylan unconscious in a broom closet. His neck is bleeding. We're at the school," I finally added, realizing Whizz needed to know our location.

Dang it, but I was a mess, and I didn’t know what to do in a situation like this.

"Okay, stay put, or if you think you two are in further danger, find a safe place to hide," Whizz instructed, his voice carrying a sense of urgency.