She studies me, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again, haven’t you?”
“It’s my job.”
“It’s your excuse,” she corrects, but her voice is kind. “Go on. Get some real rest. Not that fake napping you do where you just stare at the ceiling thinking about work.”
I force a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pats my cheek. “That’s my boy.”
I escape before she can say more, my feet heavy on the stairs. My bedroom’s at the end of the hall, the door slightly ajar. Inside, the curtains are drawn, casting everything in soft gray light.
I strip off my uniform, letting it fall to the floor. The shower’s hot, almost too hot, steam fogging up the glass. Water runs over my skin, and I try to wash away the memory of Caroline’s touch, the scent of her hair, the way she looked at me when she thought no one was watching.
But it’s no use. She’s everywhere.
I slide under the cool sheets, closing my eyes against the daylight filtering through the curtains. My body aches with exhaustion, but my mind won’t shut up. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve known Caroline for years, always kept my distance, always told myself she’s off-limits. Amara’s best friend. An Omega. Trouble wrapped in a pretty package.
And then I went and fucked everything up.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I almost ignore it. But what if it’s Caroline? What if she needs something?
I grab it, my heart thudding. Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Damon Wilder?” A woman’s voice, cool and professional. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
My stomach drops. “Who is this?”
“Helena Thorn. I’m on with Silas and the rest of the Council. We need to discuss Willowbrook.”
Of course. Just what I need. A conference call with Chicago’s finest while I’m lying in bed like a teenager who got caught sneaking out.
“I’m here,” I say, sitting up. “What’s this about?”
Silas cuts in. “The Council has been reviewing Willowbrook’s latest reports. Given the recent instability, we need to discuss long-term solutions.”
Here we go.
“The TrueBond app,” Marcus continues, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “We believe it’s the most viable solution. We’d like to hold workshops, provide materials, and perhaps have you endorse it to the town’s Omegas.”
My stomach twists. “I’m not sure that’s the best approach.”
“And why not?” Marcus asks, and I can hear the challenge in his voice. “It’s Council-approved. The algorithms are sound. It’s a perfectly reasonable way to ensure Omegas are properly bonded and the Rift remains stable.”
“Because it’s impersonal,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Because bonding isn’t something you can algorithm. It’s not a math problem.”
A heavy silence falls over the line.
“Damon,” Silas warns. “We’re not asking for your opinion on the mechanics of romance. We’re asking you to do your job and help stabilize the Rift.”
“And I’m telling you,” I shoot back, “that forcing Omegas to bond through some app isn’t the answer. It’s a Band-Aid on a bullet wound.”
“The Rift is a problem we can’t keep ignoring,” Helena says firmly. “And the data shows that bonded Omegas help stabilize it. It’s not just about romance, Damon. It’s about survival.”
I lean back against the headboard, my head pounding. She’s right. I know she’s right. The Rift is a ticking time bomb, and we’ve all been pretending it’s not. But a part of me still can’t get behind treating people like variables in an equation, like their lives and happiness don’t matter as long as the magic stays contained.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, because I can’t argue anymore. “I’ll get back to you.”
