Priorities.
Is that what I am?
A priority to be eliminated?
"You're beautiful, I'll admit that," the elder Lawson adds, tilting his head to examine me from a new angle. "But insane beings like you are a threat. To order. To stability. To everything my family has built."
A huff escapes me.
Indignant.
Defiant.
Even hanging upside down with a bomb on my chest, I refuse to be dismissed.
"If you guys were friends with my parents," I say, and my voice comes out steadier than it should, "then you would have been fine with insanity. The Eastmans weren't exactly known for their stability."
His expression flickers.
Brief.
Controlled.
But I saw it.
"I know you were there," I continue, pressing. "At the performance. I noticed you. Top tier, behind the curtain. Thought you were being subtle, but I've spent three years learning to spot threats in crowds."
My body sways gently on the ring—a metronome marking time, marking seconds I don't have many of.
"If you wanted to kill me, you could have. From that position, with any decent marksman, I would have been dead before the first bow." My head tilts—awkward in my inverted position. "But you let your son betray me instead. Why? To prove loyalty ain't shit, even to your Omega?"
I laugh.
Sharp.
Bitter.
"Like father, like son, I guess."
"Shut up."
The command cracks through the air.
First emotion he's shown.
Interesting.
"I was loyal to my wife," he says, and there's something raw beneath the polish now. Something wounded. "And what did it get me? She killed herself. Took poison like a coward and left me with nothing but a son who can't even follow simple orders."
His wife.
Kai's mother.
The Omega who loved dance and died alone.
I sigh.
The sound echoes in the warehouse—soft, resigned, the exhale of someone who's running out of time and patience.
