Page 58 of Omega's Fire

I park haphazardly and approach the chaos, searchingdesperately for any sign of Leo’s blond hair. Nothing. Just displaced residents clutching salvaged possessions and looking lost.

“Excuse me.” I stop a young woman carrying a cardboard box, her expression shell-shocked. “Did you know Leo Torres?”

She shakes her head without stopping, hurrying past like I might be another authority figure ready to make her life worse.

Then I spot her. Meg Deveraux stands near the dumpster with a cluster of other activists. She looks exhausted, but the moment she sees me, her expression hardens into something approaching hatred.

“Hello Thorndick,” Her voice drips with disdain. “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for Leo.”

“Of course, you are,” she replies, then she shakes her head. “Can’t you just leave him alone? He’s got enough to worry about right now.”

“Don’t tell me the details if you don’t want to. I just want to know he’s safe.”

“I don’t know where he is.” For the first time, her anger cracks, revealing genuine worry underneath. “He wouldn’t answer my calls. Probably too ashamed to face any of us after what you made him do.”

“I didn’t make him do anything.”

“Didn’t you?” She turns her back on me and it’s clear our conversation is over. Leo isn’t here and she doesn’t know where he is. There’s no point getting into an argument with her, but I am starting to worry. He has nowhere to go. Nowhere, except to me. I don’t know if Leo knows where I live but I call my building, telling the doorman to let Leo into my apartment if he arrives and to let me know if he does.

I spend the next two hours driving aimlessly through the city, checking every place Leo might have gone. The universitylibrary, closed. The coffee shop he favors near campus, empty. By the time I return home, full darkness has fallen and my panic is starting to rise. I swap out my SIM yet again for one of the new ones and try call him but it goes straight to voicemail.

“Hi Leo, it’s Nash. You have a place with me if you need one. No strings, I promise. Please just let me know you’re okay.”

Sleep proves impossible. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, every shadow seeming to shift with threatening possibility. Leo is out there somewhere, pregnant and alone.

My omega. My responsibility. And I have no way to find him, no way to help.

By six AM, I abandon any pretense of rest. I shower, get dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and drive straight to the Brennan & Wallace offices. They’re closed when I arrive—too early of course— so I cross the road to the coffee shop across the way and take up a window seat. Leo will have to go to work. I realize I’m in full stalker mode now, but I don’t care. I just want to see him. I tell myself that all I need is to see him. If he arrives fresh and clean and ready to face the work day, I won’t let him know I’ve seen him. I’m just going to know he’s okay and has found a place and I’ll walk away.

By ten, it’s clear that either I’ve missed him going in or he’s not turned up to work today.

Before I can think better of it, I swallow the last of my coffee (my third) and cross the road to the building. The receptionist looks up as I enter.

“I’m here to see Leo Torres,” I tell her casually. “We have a meeting scheduled.”

Her expression shifts. “Oh, I’m sorry. Leo left yesterday. Didn’t he contact you?”

Left. The word echoes in my mind like a death knell. “Left the firm?”

“Well, his internship ended early. “ She fidgets with herkeyboard, clearly uncomfortable in a way that makes me think there something she isn’t saying. “Could I call Eliza Wallace for you? She’ll know what he was working on.”

“No, thank you.” The careful way the receptionist avoids my eyes tells me everything I need to know about why Leo’s internship “ended early.” It was the pregnancy. It had to be. I know that pregnant omegas in precarious employment situations aren’t

Because of me.

I drive to the university in a haze of guilt and mounting fury.

Dean Jones’s assistant tries to turn me away—no appointment, the Dean’s very busy—but something in my expression must convince her to make an exception. Within minutes, I’m sitting across from Jones’s gleaming mahogany desk, his silver hair perfectly styled despite the early hour.

“Nash.” He doesn’t look up from the papers he’s reviewing. “This is unexpected.”

“I need Leo Torres’s contact information.” No preamble, no pleasantries. I’m done with politeness.

His pen stills. “Mr. Torres requested a sabbatical this morning. Very sudden. I don’t intend to grant it.”

“What?” The word explodes from me with more force than intended.

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