Page 38 of Omega on Fire

“Today, I rise not as a partisan voice, but as a patriot and a father, deeply troubled by the escalating crisis threatening the very foundation of our great society: the unregulated movement and unchecked behavior of Omegas within our borders.”

“There it is,” I say aloud to no one. “The coded language.”

He pushes forward, his tone equal parts solemn and superior.

“We’ve seen an unprecedented rise in Omega disappearances. Tragic, yes. But equally alarming is the growing trend of self-governing ‘Omega-safe Cities’—pockets of radical autonomy where Omegas act without oversight, fueled by so-called ‘activists’ who confuse chaos with progress.”

I stand now, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. He’s laying the groundwork. The fear. The justification. I know what’s coming next before the words even leave his mouth.

“To restore order and safety,” Blaine says, and Iswear he almost smiles, “I am proud to introduce the Omega Responsibility & Accountability Act.”

My stomach turns. The screen fills with infographics. Each bullet point lands like a body blow.

Mandatory Omega Registration. “Like they’re weapons, not people,” I growl.

Restricted Mobility Clause. “So, they can’t even leave a city without begging for permission?”

Public Behavior Monitoring. “You want to regulate their scent now? Their biology? You sick, controlling piece of shit.”

Revocation of Advocacy Rights. “Of course. Silence the loudest voices.”

Omega Guardian Assignment Program. I stop pacing. My hand curls into a fist. “That is a leash. It’s a fucking leash.”

Blaine places a hand over his heart like the sanctimonious coward he is.

“Freedom is not the absence of rules—it is the presence of righteous order. And if we are to remain a civilized society, we must guide those who’ve forgotten how to follow.”

Applause breaks out in the chamber. A slow, poisonous wave of support.

I stare at the screen, fury burning a hole in my chest. I knew this was coming. Charlotte told us asmuch. This is some insidious shit. But seeing it spelled out so plainly, hearing the applause, like this is salvation instead of suppression, makes something inside me snap.

“You’re not guiding them,” I hiss at the screen. “You’re caging them.”

Her scent hits me first before her footsteps do. Honey and cinnamon, laced now with something scorched and sharp. Anger. Controlled, simmering, and precise. Like wildfire bottled inside glass.

I sensed her approach the moment the broadcast began. Of course she’d be watching. I knew she would come looking for me eventually. I can’t keep myself hidden away in my office for much longer. Hell, I don’t want to. I just wanted to give her space, give her time to adjust but hearing her with the others, it’s killing me.

I keep my eyes on the screen, refusing to acknowledge her presence. Not yet. I want to know how deep this cuts. I want to know what fury it stirs.

The senator’s face fills the screen, smug and assured.

“. . .and let me be perfectly clear, this isn’t about limitation—it’s about preservation. In a time where Omega abductions are on the rise, we must take steps to ensure their safety. Mandatory designation statuslogs, curfews for unbonded Omegas, and regulated scent-suppression routines for travel are common-sense safeguards.”

I hear her breath hitch behind me—soft, sharp, like the sound of a blade unsheathing.

“I understand some might say this infringes on freedoms,” the senator continues, “but what is freedom without security? What are rights if not structured for the betterment of all?”

He smiles. That practiced, empty smile meant to disarm.

“We cannot protect what we do not track. And let me remind you all, this is about ensuring our Omega population remains protected, healthy, and accounted for.”

The screen fades to the congressional seal, a nauseating montage of applause and rising music beneath it. I reach for the remote but don’t hit mute.

Charlotte speaks before I do. “Accounted for.” Her voice is low. Steady. But underneath it is thunder—building, rolling, preparing to crack the sky open.

I turn now, finally, and meet her eyes.

“I was accounted for,” she continues, stepping into the room like the force of nature she is. Her hair, freshly maintained, oiled and conditioned from her post work out shower, coils tight and soft around herface. Her arms are crossed, jaw tight, nostrils flaring. So, yeah, I’ve been observing from afar. I know her routine just as well as Josiah.

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