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I slide down the wall in a heap, like a marionette whose strings have been cut. Only my lungs move as I fight for breath, unable to take in more than a trick of air at a time.

Everything’s fuzzy, like I’m in a dream. The pain of not yet obeying the Command may as well be a thousand blocks of concrete pressing on my lungs. Breathing is nearly impossible.

My first real lungful of air forces a whine from my chest. It’s raw, pitiful, and full of pain. Shame crawls up my neck and pools in my cheeks.

I hate how he knows just how terrified I am of him.

“Answer me, Omega!” My father’s Command has a noose around my instincts, making my skin tight and my nerves scream. My limbs shake with pain, and the second full breath I manage gives me no choice but to respond.

Alphas can only use their Command sparingly. It’s some kind of built-in fail-safe to keep them from barking Omegas into full submission and taking advantage of the biological power their designation has over ours.

But my father made a mistake.

Commands have limits. They have to be specific. He ordered me to answer him, but he didn’t order me to tell him the truth.

And I can work with that.

“I don’t—” I wheeze, “—know.”

His Command releases me, and the pain vanishes.

I can finally, blessedly, pull in greedy lungfuls of air. I can’t stay upright any longer, though. Giving in to gravity, I collapse into a boneless heap, a pitiful moan ringing in my ears as my limbs shake and my lungs strain.

My eyes are unfocused. I keep them trained on the floor, not daring to look anywhere else. Father closes the distance between us and crouches down, looming over me.

“You don’t know,” he echoes mockingly. “You expect me to believe that?”

I feel his gaze boring a hole into the side of my head, but that’s fine. He can stare. I answered him, and that was the only thing he Commanded.

He can’t force me to do anything else—not with an Alpha Command, at least.

It’s so demeaning to have your free will snatched away by another person, and I hate him for it.

If I had any regrets choosing Caelan over my Father, those would have dissipated like smoke in the wind the moment he ripped away my autonomy.

His palms slam onto the floor, his hands landing dangerously close to my head. The sound makes me flinch, another jolt of pain striking like lightning through my skull.

“Was it Mara? One of my men? Tell me!”

Spittle flies out of his mouth. I watch it land on the floor next to me, but I stay silent, too terrified to speak.

How did I ever think that living like this was okay?

My vision is still blurry, but I follow the length of him, crouched menacingly in front of me, until I can meet his eyes.

For the first time in my life, I don’t look away.

I hold his glare and give him the only answer he’s going to get out of me.

“I don’t know.”

My voice is raw, and my lips are numb, but I still don’t look away.

Let him see my defiance. Let him see the stubbornness he claims to have failed to beat out of me.

Whether it’s my stubbornness or something else, whatever he sees looking back at him is enough to make him recoil. It’s a tiny movement, but I catch it.

He’s afraid.