Page 2 of Omega's Fire

Besides, one day my little sister might need me. It’s one thing to cut off a parent. It’s another to cut off a sibling, especially one who is just a kid. Fleur is almost thirteen now. There’s nothing wrong with being an omega. I know that, but I still hope she doesn’t present as one. Life is too difficult.

The gymnasium is buzzing with afternoon activity when I arrive. Folding tables are staffed by volunteers and they’ve set up rows of beds and equipment on the north end.

I find the registration table and give the woman behind it my name. “Leo Torres. I should be signed up.”

The technician checks my name against her list, then passes me a consent form. I sign it, pass it back and she guides me to an available station.

I don’t have to wait long before a technician is at my side. She’s a short middle-aged beta with dark hair and a professional smile. She moves through the process like she’s done this a thousand times.

“Thanks for coming. We’re really short on omega donors today.”

I nod, settling into the donation chair, rolling up my sleeve as she prepares the needle. The process is routine—I’ve done this dozen times over the past few years. It’s part of my commitment to community support. We omegas need to take care of each other. The system won’t.

“Just a quick pinch,” she warns, sliding the needle efficiently into my vein.

The familiar sting barely registers. I focus on the ceiling tiles above, counting the water stains while my blood flows into the collection bag.

“You’re doing great,” the technician says, attaching a smaller vial to the line. “Just need one more sample.”

I glance down, noting the second container she’s filling. “What’s that one for?”

“Standard screening,” she replies without looking up. “Blood typing, disease markers, hormone levels. Routine health panel.”

Fair enough. I return my attention to the ceiling, mentally reviewing the constitutional law outline I need to finish tonight. I’ve got behind on my study schedule in the chaos of the last few days. I need to catch up.

“All done,” she announces, withdrawing the needle and pressing cotton against the puncture site. “Hold pressure there for a few minutes.”

She brings me an orange juice box and a handful of cookies from the recovery table.

I accept the post-donation snacks, suddenly starving. The orange juice tastes artificial, but I drink it anyway.

“There he is—the savior of omega-kind.”

Meg drops into the chair beside me, dark braids swinging as she grins. She’s been my closest friend and occasional worst influence since our first law seminar, back when I was still desperate to prove myself and the fact that I belonged in law school in the first place. I’d found myself next to her in the lecture hall while we waited for the professor to arrive and she’d asked me what had made me study law. She was just making small talk, but I’d replied “Because I’m tired of omegas being taken seriously,” and instead of laughing, she’d just nodded and said, “Me too.”

Now, I grin at the sight of her and reply, “Very funny.”

Meg steals a cookie from my plate. “I’m not joking.” Her expression grows more serious. “You look exhausted, Leo. When did you last sleep?”

The question is valid. The past week has been a blur. Sleep has been optional, food intermittent, self-care non-existent.

“I’ll sleep when we win the housing appeal,” I mutter, not entirely joking.

Meg studies my face with the sharp attention that makes her such a good law student. “You moved everything by yourself, didn’t you?”

“Jules helped with the furniture.” The mattress, technically. Everything else I’d carried alone.

She pulls out her tablet, swiping to a document covered in highlighted text. “I found something for the housing appeal. A case from 2015. The court ruled that housing can’t be contingent on Bureau registration if it constitutes undue financial hardship.”

My interest sharpens. “How did they define undue hardship?”

“A few things” Meg passes over the tablet and I scan the text. “We need to cross-reference with State vs. Brinton College.”

“Already on my list,” I assure her.

Yes, I have a roof over my head now but a squat isn’t exactly a long term prospect. I’m entitled to student housing, or I should be in a fair world.

We spend the next twenty minutes strategizing, mapping out arguments and precedents, before Meg gives me that look of hers and orders me to go home.

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