Handcuffed?
Sage—the escape artist, the man who's never met a lock he couldn't pick, who's built his entire reputation on being impossible to contain—washandcuffed?
He sighs at our expressions, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration I've rarely seen from him.
"The Omega got me with some special mechanical lock shit." His voice is a mixture of annoyance and... something else. Something that sounds almost like respect. "Bite me."
The Omega.
The words land wrong.
Too casual.
Too familiar.
Like he's talking about someone specific instead of someone hypothetical.
I huff out a breath, forcing myself to ignore the implications for now.
"So is ANYONE going to explain what this emotional bullshit we're all feeling is about?" My voice rises despite my best efforts to keep it controlled. "Because I'm trying not to lose my shit at the idea that someone in our loyal pack just accepted an Omega as our pack's, because that's the only logical reasoning for this emotional rollercoaster."
The silence that follows is damning.
Sage doesn't deny it.
Jett doesn't correct me.
Even Blaze has stopped smirking.
I feel my blood pressure spike.
"Did we forget the purpose of being here?" The words come out sharp, dangerous, each one a weapon I'm throwing at them. "Find and kill Eastman! Not to enjoy pussy and go along with this academy's foolish rules of pack life!"
The mission.
The whole fucking reason we're at this nightmare academy, suffering through violence and politics and the constant threat of death.
We're here to eliminate the last Eastman heir.
To protect the empire.
To make sure the legacy my family destroyed a decade ago stays destroyed.
Not to bond with random Omegas.
Not to getattached.
All eyes land on Sage.
He has the decency to look slightly sheepish.
Then he shrugs.
"My bad. The pussy won."
Blaze snickers—a sharp, surprised sound that he immediately tries to muffle behind his hand.
Jett sighs with the resignation of someone who's been dealing with this specific brand of chaos for too long.
