He moves forward, laying the tablet on my desk. The screen glows with the stark, blue-white light of a Vesper House medical summary. It’s a sealed notice, the kind protected by a dozen layers of privacy legislation and medical ethics codes.
"An S-Class Alpha rut match," I murmur, scanning the intake timestamps. "The window lines up with his disappearance. Just as the sedative levels in Jorak's blood would have hit the floor."
"It's a clinical summary, Mercer," Rue says, his hands moving restlessly at his sides. "Vesper House uses their own internal metrics. 'S-Class Alpha' in their system is a measure of hormonal volatility and rut-risk, not necessarily an Esper classification. It could be a high-functioning Alpha with a particularly aggressive cycle. It doesn't have to be Jorak."
I trace the curve of the discharge note with my thumb. "And the Omega?"
"Matched by blood compatibility," Rue says. He’s trying to sound reasonable, trying to offer me a way out of the conclusion he knows I’ve already reached. "But look at the outcome. No emergency intervention. No trauma protocols activated. The Omega left under their own power, uninjured and stable. That isn't how an encounter with Jorak ends. Not when he's in a Black Current surge."
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight. Elian doesn't understand. He sees the world through the lens of a lab technician, focused on the safety of the individual. I see the world as a system of pressures and reliefs. If Jorak returned to the facility as calm as a summer morning, it isn't because the drugs finally worked. It’s because he found a vent for the pressure.
Jorak’s never found a match, a guide for his essence. And during a rut? He’s known to be nearly lethal.
"The fact that the Omega survived is exactly why it has to be him," I say. I tap the tablet screen. "Jorak doesn't need more suppression, Elian. He needs a sink. This report suggests he found one that didn't burn out after ten minutes of contact."
"Even if it is him, the privacy laws—"
"The privacy laws ended the moment an S-Class Enigma walked out of containment," I cut him off. I don't raise my voice. I don't have to. "I want the full record. Not just the summary. I want the blood compatibility sequence, the intake biometrics, and the discharge notes. I want to know exactly what kind of Omega walks into a room with a starving wolf and comes out without a scratch."
Rue hesitates. "Requesting those files under emergency authority will leave a digital trail a mile wide. If the Board finds out we're subpoenaing clinical records for a classified asset..."
"The Board wants Redbrook stable," I reply. "They don't care how the gears turn, as long as the clock keeps ticking. File the request. Use my personal override code. Tell them it's a matter of containment integrity."
Before he can respond, the console on my desk chirps. A red light pulses in the corner of my vision, a steady, rhythmic heartbeat that signals a new crisis. I tap the display, bringing up the city map. A suppression node near the university district glows amber, the energy readings spiking into the danger zone.
"Another one?" Rue asks, his face paling as he looks at the screen.
"Flare-sick civilians in the residential blocks," I say, watching the data stream. "The fucking Unbound group have already released a statement, calling it environmental poisoning. They're claiming we're burying the city in its own rot."
I stand up and walk to the window, looking out toward the university spikes. The infrastructure is failing faster than our models predicted. The nodes were never meant to hold this much stray power for this long. We’re trying to hold back an ocean with a crumbling dam.
"We don't have time for a delicate approach," I say, my reflection staring back at me from the glass. "Jorak's placement at Redbrook University will continue. The nodes there are critical; if they fail, we lose the entire northern grid."
"He's not ready," Rue argues, though his voice lacks conviction. "I know we sent him this morning but his stabilization levels are... well, we don't know why they're stable. Pushing him into a high-stress zone near failing nodes could trigger a catastrophic discharge."
"He needs to stay active," I counter. "He's a weapon, Elian. You don't keep a blade in a velvet box when the enemy is at the gates. You use it. If he's found a way to balance his own current, I want to know if it holds under field conditions."
Rue sighs, a long, defeated sound. He looks older than he did ten minutes ago, the weight of the system finally beginning to crush his remaining ethics. He picks up the tablet, standing there for a moment, looking at the door, then back at me.
"If this Omega is real," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If there is someone out there who can actually stabilize him... bringing them into this, Mercer. Pulling them into Jorak's file. It will destroy their life. They'll be turned into a state resource. A battery. They'll never have a choice again."
I walk over to him, stopping just inside his personal space. I’m a head taller than him, and I make sure he feels the full weight of that presence. Every choice I make is a calculation meant to keep eight million people from burning in a power surge they don't even believe in.
"If that Omega survived a night with Jorak Thorn," I say, my voice as cold and hard as the glass behind me. "Their life is already involved. They just don't know it yet. Now, go and get me that name."
He nods once, a sharp, jerky movement, and flees the office. I watch the door close behind him, the latch clicking into place with a finality that pleases me. I walk back to my desk and sit down, my eyes drawn back to the amber light pulsing on the map.
I pull up the university district schematic, the blue lines overlapping with the heat signatures of the failing nodes. The pulse is erratic, a jagged heartbeat that mirrors the rising tension in the streets. Silas is clever; he knows exactly which nerves to pinch to make the public scream. By framing the nodes as a source of sickness rather than a shield against it, he is turning the city's life support into a public enemy. If the civilians start sabotaging the nodes to 'stop the poisoning,' the resulting flare will level three city blocks within seconds.
My fingers dance across the holographic interface, isolating Node 42-B. It’s located in the basement of the university's physics wing, a relic of the first expansion that was never properly decommissioned. It’s leaking more than just static; the atmospheric radiation levels are climbing, creating that sickly sweet ozone smell that precedes a total containment breach. I need Jorak there, not just as a deterrent against Unbound protestors, but because his very presence acts as a grounding rod for the excess energy. His body can absorb the leak where a human technician would simply liquefy.
The screen flickers, a priority message blinking in the corner of my eye. A camera screen appears, showing the inside of the car Jorak took earlier. There’s four cars following him and another already at the campus but it’s the lack of expression on Jorak’s face that surprises me.
He’s not angry, breathing too hard, or even boiling over. He’s just...driving.
I lean in, magnifying the image. There’s no tremor in his fingers. The raw, violent hum that usually vibrates through the audio sensors when he’s near is hushed, replaced by a low, stable frequency. It’s the biological equivalent of a storm system suddenly turning into a light breeze. Whatever happened at Vesper House hasn't just sated him; it recalibrated him.
"What did you find, Jorak?" I whisper to the camera. He can't hear me, but for a second, his eyes shift toward the camera lens. He knows I’m watching. He always knows. He doesn't look like a weapon in need of repair anymore. He looks like a weapon that’s finally found its target.
