Page 2 of Unmarked

She means well - she always does - but she has no idea what am, or what I’ve been hiding.

Because if she did - ifanyonedid - I’d be in deep shit.

The OMB would see to that - the Omega Management Board. A government-run agency that tracks every registered Omega from the moment they present.

They house them. Train them. Place them.

Controlthem.

As an omega, once you present - once the bloodwork confirms it and your first heat starts - you're registered. There’s no opt-out, no appeals -

You’re officially on the list.

I was a late bloomer. Eighteen years old, and practically a grown adult by the time it hit - my scent shifting overnight, my body betraying me without warning. I didn’t wait around for the OMB to start sniffing around: I found a backdoor supplier for suppressants - strong ones - paid cash, and had no questions asked.

They were the kind that wiped everything clean. My heat, my scent, my signature. The kind that let me erase myself from the system before they even noticed I existed, and I’ve stayed that way ever since.

“Don’t get sentimental on me,” Lexi says quickly, voice light again. “Save that energy for fixing my eyeliner when I cry halfway through someone’s speech.”

“Deal,” I say, smiling softly. “Try not to spill champagne on your dress this time.”

“No promises,” she quips. “See you tonight, birthday girl.”

“Later, Lex.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more.”

She hangs up.

I drop the phone into my lap, the weight of it suddenly heavier than it should be.

Outside, the city blurs in shades of concrete and caution. Inside, static hums low in my ears, a sound I’ve trained myself to crave.

I'm twenty-five today.

Still unregistered, unmarked, and unclaimed. It's unheard of - practically impossible - but somehow, I did it.

All it took was for me to become a ghost with a camera bag and a forged medical file.

Sure, I have to keep to myself. Blend in. Watch my back at all times and never really let my guard down.

But at least my life ismine.

My friends are all betas, and they have no idea how lucky they are. They don’t have to worry about heat cycles or lifelong expectations. No one’s watching them, waiting for them to pick a mate and scent-mark their way into domestic submission.

They get to date, flirt, fuck. They get to fall apart and start over.

They getchoices.

And so long as I keep on the suppressants and live like they do, thenso do I.

As an omega, the second the world sees the truth, I’m supposed to pick an alphaand let him brand me like livestock. Lose my name and tie myself down for life.Cook and clean and scent his pillow while he runs the world and tells everyone how lucky I am.

It’ssick. It’sboring.

And it’s everything I never wanted.

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