What the hell?
“Where am I?” I ask, voice low and trembling.
Dr. Plume doesn’t answer right away. He simply looks at me. That same soft, professional smile. “I told you,” he says. “This is the Morder. We’re going to help you find a new pack.”
I open my mouth to say something—what? I don’t know. But before I can speak, the doctor turns his head slightly.
“Kelly?” His voice rises and a face pops out from behind the partition.
“Yes, Dr. Plume?” A woman steps into view. She’s very tall and bright-eyed. Her dark blue scrubs are crisp, and her blonde ponytail is so tight it looks like it might snap.
Dr. Plume hands her the clipboard, then gestures at me like I’m a product on display. “This omega is ready.”
Ready? For what?
Kelly tucks the clipboard under her arm, then moves toward me with her hands outstretched. “Can you stand?” she asks, her voice chipper, like this is all perfectly normal.
I hesitate.
Then I nod, barely.
Her hands slide under my arms, strong and sure as she helps me up. My legs are shaky, and my balance wavers, but she steadies me like she’s done it a thousand times. I grip the sheet tighter around me, teeth clenched as I try to hold on to what little dignity I have.
“There we go,” Kelly says, guiding me upright. She tugs gently at the corners of the sheet, wrapping it tighter around my shoulders. It’s almost motherly, the way she smooths it down, but that only makes my gut twist harder.
“Good luck, omega,” Dr. Plume says, then he vanishes around the partition and out of sight.
“Where are we going?” I ask the nurse.
“To get you cleaned up,” Kelly says, leading me toward the edge of the partition. My legs are wobbly, making me move extra slow. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
I blink at her, surprised.
No one’s asked me that. Not once.
Not Angelica. Not the guards. Not Dr. Plume.
“…Skyla,” I whisper.
Kelly beams. “That’s a pretty name. How old are you?”
“Um, twenty-two.”
“Wow.” she smiles like I’ve said something fascinating about myself. “You’re a young one.” Her nose scrunches up as she takes my hand. “Come on, Skyla.”
We step around the partition—and I stop cold.
It’s not a room.
It’s atent.
A massive one, with rows of cots and partitions, medical carts and equipment. There’s movement everywhere—omegas being shifted from place to place, soft crying, nurses speaking quietly into earpieces.
The fabric walls ripple in the breeze as Kelly walks me toward the exit. She pulls the flap back and guides me into the cool air outside.
I freeze again.
The chaos before me is overwhelming. There are massive tents made of thick, dark fabric all around me. Dozens of beta guards patrol a massive concrete barrier with rifles slung over their shoulders. Some talk into radios, others keep a careful watch. Silent.
