Page 28 of Omega on Fire

"Ms. Matthews," Trigger says carefully. "Do you understand what you're saying? These are serious accusations against a powerful man."

Charlotte's chin lifts. "I understand exactly what I'm saying. And I understand the danger." She looks around the room, meeting each of our eyes in turn. "But I also understand that if you hadn't found me, I'd be gone. Erased. And he'd keep doing it to others and passing laws that would set us back decades."

When her gaze lands on me, something passes between us. Recognition. Kinship. The understanding of what it means to stare into the abyss and come out swinging.

I want to kneel before her. I want to wrap myself around her like armor. I want to tear Justus Blaine apart with my bare hands. Instead, I nod once. Message received, Harlequin.

We're going hunting my sweet Charlotte, but I need to prepare you first and make you ours in the process.

I lean against the wall, watching the tension build as Trigger stands and rounds the desk. His movements are deliberate, calculated—like a predator sizing up potential. Not prey. No, Charlotte's no one's prey. More like evaluating a new weapon in his arsenal.

He stops directly in front of her chair, invading her space without actually touching her. Classic Teagan intimidation tactic. I've seen hardened military men crumble under that stare.

Charlotte doesn't even blink.

"Are you ready for this?" Trigger asks, his voice low and measured. "Because what you're suggesting isn't just an investigation. It's war."

She tilts her chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. "You think I don't know that?"

"I think you've been through hell and might not be thinking clearly about the implications."

Wrong move, Te. I suppress a smirk as Charlotte's spine straightens, her shoulders squaring.

"I have been advocating for Omega rights for nearly a decade," she says, each word precise and cutting. "I've received death threats, been doxed, had my family harassed. I was just kidnapped, drugged, and prepared for auction like a piece of livestock. So don't patronize me about 'implications', Alpha."

Fuck, I love when she gets fired up. Her scent sharpens with it—the honey and cinnamon intensifying with a smoky edge, like someone threw spices directly onto burning embers. It makes my mouth water.

Trigger doesn't back down, but I catch the slight uptick at the corner of his mouth. He's impressed too.

"You're not the type to sit on the sidelines while we do the heavy lifting, are you?"

"You're damn right I'm not." She leans forward, closing the distance between them even further. "Senator Blaine didn't just target me randomly. He targeted me because I was effective, because I was getting too close. I have contacts, information, and context that you need."

"And you're also the only witness who can identify him," Trigger counters. "Which means if you want to help, if you want to be part of this, you staywithin these walls. Protected. Especially from the Senator and anyone in his employ."

Her jaw tightens. I can almost see the arguments forming behind her eyes, the rebellion brewing in her blood. But then she exhales slowly, nodding once.

"Fine. But I need to talk to Brookes. He needs to hear my voice, know I'm alright."

Joker perks up at this, fingers already moving across his tablet. "I can arrange that. Secure line, untraceable. Give me fifteen minutes to set it up."

"Thank you," Charlotte says, and there's genuine gratitude in her voice that makes something in my chest twist uncomfortably.

Trigger steps back, giving her space again. "If you're staying with us, you learn to hold your own." His tone brooks no argument. "You can't hunt with us and not know how to protect yourself."

"We'll teach you," I add, drawing her attention my way. Our eyes lock, and that same electric recognition from earlier passes between us. "Hand to hand, weapons, surveillance. Whatever it takes."

"I never want to be caught unaware again," Charlotte says, her voice hardening with resolve. "I won't be helpless."

"Good," Trigger nods. "We'll start tomorrow. Basics first, then?—"

"And one more thing," she interrupts, standing to face all of us now. "Ms. Matthews is my mother. Call me Charlotte."

Something about the way she says it—demanding her personhood, her identity—sends a shiver down my spine. Most Omegas I've encountered are soft, yielding creatures, even the strong ones. But Charlotte? She's steel wrapped in velvet. Dangerous in her own right.

"Charlotte," I test the name on my tongue, savoring it. "Fits you better than Harlequin anyway."

She smirks. "I never said I didn't like Harlequin."

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