A wave of relief washes over me so intense it makes my knees weak. I’m not the one they’re after. Not yet, anyway. But the relief is quickly followed by a new wave of dread. For Tessa. For all the unbonded Omegas in this town.
Why this data? What is the Council planning?
Amara’s words about the TrueBond app come back to me, her warning about how it could be used to control people, to take away their choices. Is this the first step? A census. A way to identify the “problem” before they offer their “solution.”
I walk over to the counter, my movements feeling stiff, unnatural. “Are you okay, Tessa?” I ask gently.
She looks at me, her eyes wide and frightened. “I… I don’t understand. Why would they want my name? What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything,” June says firmly, leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t about you, sweetheart. This is about them. About their fear and their need to control everything they don’t understand.”
“But what if they don’t stop at just wanting our names?” Tessa asks, her voice trembling. “What if they try to… to force us to do something?”
“They won’t,” August says, his voice filled with a quiet confidence that I find reassuring. “We won’t let them. This town has a way of taking care of its own.”
I want to believe him. I really do. But as I look at Tessa’s frightened face, at June’s simmering anger, at the spilled herbs on the floor—a symbol of the disruption that has just been thrown into our lives—I can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning. That the storm that’s been brewing on the horizon is finally about to break.
And I have no idea if any of us are prepared for what’s coming.
The bell above the door doesn’t stop ringing. It’s a constant, frantic chime that sets my teeth on edge, a soundtrack to the panic that has gripped Willowbrook. The apothecary is a madhouse. The line snakes out the door and down the cobblestone street, a queue of worried faces and jittery hands. Everyone wants something. Calming draughts. Warding salts. Tinctures to soothe frayed nerves. Potions to help them sleep through the night. The air is thick with the scent of burnt sage, desperation, and fear.
I work at the counter with a mechanical efficiency I didn’t know I possessed, my hands moving on their own, measuring and grinding and bottling. My mind is a whirlwind, but my body is calm, focused. It’s the only way to survive the onslaught.
“Did you hear?” a woman whispers to her friend as I hand her a small bottle of a lavender-infused tincture. “They’re making a list. A list of all of us.”
“I heard it’s worse than that,” her friend replies. “They’re bringing in Alphas from Chicago. A matching program. They’re going to pair us off whether we like it or not.”
My stomach clenches, but I keep my expression neutral. “That’ll be twelve dollars.”
The rumor mill is working overtime, spinning tales of Council-enforced bonds, of forced matings, of Omegas being shipped off to Chicago like livestock. Some of it is probably exaggeration, but the kernel of truth at the center of it all—the directive, the list—is real. I saw it in Deputy Simon’s face this morning. I felt it in the tension that crackled in the air long before the first customer even walked through the door.
Around nine, Thistle appears, a sleek shadow weaving through the forest of legs. He hops onto the counter, his tail twitching with disdain at the chaos. He rubs against my arm, a silent demand for attention, then promptly knocks over a small, unlabeled vial I had just finished brewing for a special order.
It’s a Scent Revealer, a tricky little concoction designed to amplify and make plain the wearer’s true magical signature. It shatters on the counter, the liquid inside shimmering for a moment before evaporating into a fine, glittering mist.
For a second, nothing happens. Then a wave of scent, not just my usual cinnamon and honey, but something deeper, richer, blooms in the air. The unmistakable, intoxicating aroma of an Omega in heat. It’s not real, not a true heat, but the potion has mimicked the scent, amplified it, broadcast it to the entire room.
The effect is instantaneous. The chatter dies. Every head turns in my direction. The air crackles with a new kind of tension, a primal, predatory awareness. I can feel their eyes on me, their gazes a physical weight. An older Beta in the back actually takes a step back, his eyes wide. A young Alpha near the door stiffens, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“Everyone out!” June commands. “Now! The shop is closed!”
She appears from the back room, her face like thunder. August is right behind her, his expression grim. They move as a unit, creating a human barrier between the staring crowd and me.
“You heard her!” August says, leaving no room for argument. “Out!”
The customers shuffle out, their movements slow, reluctant, their eyes still fixed on me. I can feel my face burning with shame. The lie I’ve told for three years, the secret I’ve so carefully guarded, is hanging in the air for everyone to see.
When the last person is gone and the door is locked, June turns to me, her expression softening. “Are you okay, Caroline?”
I can only shake my head, my throat too tight to speak.
“Are you in heat?”
“No,” I gasp. “Maybe my scent hasn’t gone back to normal yet. I was in heat just a few days ago, but that passed. I swear.”
August clicks his tongue. “It’s that damn rift. It’s messed with everyone’s cycle. Good thing your Alpha is in town. I could smell him on you this morning, you know.”
Fucking great! My boss knows I got laid last night.
