People were watching him, and not with the usual dismissive glances followed by quick looks away when they registered his Elysian robes. This was new, a strange attention that tracked him through the crowd with an intensity that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
An Alpha woman across the way had stopped mid-conversation to stare at him, her nostrils flaring. A cluster of Betas near a clothing stall whispered to each other and nodded in his direction. Even the vendor he usually bought his midday meal from—a kind older Omega who’d always been patient with his fumbling recruitment attempts—was looking at him differently, something almost like concern creasing her weathered face.
Do I look that sick?
Cass touched his cheek, feeling the heat there. Maybe the fever was worse than he’d realized. Maybe he was visibly ill in some way he couldn’t see.
He approached the water vendor first—hydration was important when fighting illness, Brother Aurelius always said—but the man took one look at him and shook his head before Cass could even reach for his bag.
“Not serving Omegas in that state,” the vendor said, his nose wrinkling. “Ask your Alpha to come instead.”
“What state?” Cass frowned. “I don’t have an Alpha. I just want to buy a drink.”
The vendor was already turning to the next customer, and Cass was left standing there with coins in his hand and a growing knot of confusion in his stomach.
What state?
He looked down at himself again—same robes he always wore, same sandals, same bag of recruitment materials. Nothing different except the flush he could feel burning in his cheeks and the strange sensitivity prickling across his skin.
Maybe he could smell that I’m sick. Maybe there’s some kind of illness spreading and he doesn’t want me near his water.
That made him sad. Even sick people needed water.
Cass moved deeper into the marketplace, trying to ignore the way people’s eyes seemed to follow him. A woman in an expensive leather jacket stood near a rummage stall, watching with unblinking intensity. When Cass changed direction, she did too—casual, unhurried, but definitely following. The observation made his heart rate pick up, which made him sweat more, which made his skin prickle worse, which made him aware all over again of how wrong everything felt today.
You’re being paranoid. This is just the flu making you anxious. Nobody actually wants to follow you. No one here likes you.
But his body disagreed. Some instinct he didn’t have a name for was screaming at him to run, to find somewhere small and safe and hidden, to—
To what? Hide in a corner like a scared animal?
Brother Matthias would be so disappointed. This was exactly the kind of “earthly reaction” the transcendence training was supposed to eliminate.Fear is the body’s confusion, he’d said, his gentle hands pressing against Cass’s chest.We must release it so the spirit can flow freely.
He spotted a potential recruit near the edge of the market—a middle-aged person sitting alone, their expression weary rather than hostile. Tired. Sad. The kind of sadness that sometimes meant someone was ready to hear about harmony and purpose.
This is why I’m here, Cass reminded himself.To help people like this.
“Excuse me.” He made his voice soft, non-threatening, the way he’d been trained. “I couldn’t help but notice you seem like someone who might be carrying burdens that spiritual guidance could help lighten.”
For once, there wasn’t immediate rejection. “What kind of guidance?”
Hope sparked in Cass’s chest—tiny and fragile, but there. “My community teaches that true fulfillment comes through collective harmony. When we align our individual journeys with the greater purpose of—”
“Which community?”
Please. Please let this work.
“Elysian Dynamics. We believe in—”
The change was immediate and devastating. The person’s expression hardened and whatever openness had been there slamming shut like a door. They stood abruptly, chair scraping against concrete.
“No thanks.” Their voice was cold. “I’ve seen what Elysian does to people.”
And then they were gone, leaving Cass standing frozen with his hand half-raised and his rehearsed speech dying on his tongue.
Forty-seven rejections this week.
Three hundred and twelve since they sent me here.
