Page 19 of Run Omega Run
Perhaps I should focus on comfort measures, on explaining how the morphine would prevent suffering, how peaceful her mother's last days could be. "The important thing is that she won't be in pain..." But that sounded like I was already consigning Eleanor to death, eliminating hope that might keep Heather functional.
Each potential conversation played out in my head with devastating clarity. I could see her face crumbling as the reality sank in, could imagine the way her fierce composure would shatter when she realized how little time they had left. The thought of being the one to cause that pain made my chest tighten with something that felt suspiciously like cowardice.
Around me, the hospital continued its early morning rhythm. Soft-soled shoes squeaked against linoleum as nurses made their rounds, the sound punctuated by the electronic beeps of monitoring equipment that never slept. Somewhere down the hall, a patient's call light chimed insistently, followed by hurried footsteps and muffled voices discussing medication schedules and comfort measures.
I could hear the distant rumble of the elevator, the opening and closing of doors as support staff came and went. The smell of coffee drifted from the break room, mixing with the antiseptic nature of the ward that permeated every surface. These were the sounds and smells of institutional care, of a place where people came to heal or die, where families gathered to hope or grieve.
Soon, Heather would become intimately familiar with all of it.
I sighed. Heather.
The memory of her scent lingered in my nostrils as I reached the elevator bank. I could almost taste the sweetness on the back of my tongue. My hands trembled as I pressed the button for the lower level, where the morgue waited in familiar darkness.
Down there, surrounded by the tools of my trade and the silence that came with death, maybe I could regain some semblance of control. Maybe I could analyze this attraction with the same detached precision I applied to everything else in my life.
But even as the elevator doors closed around me, I knew it was too late. Heather had gotten under my skin in ways that wouldn't be easily extracted. And part of me, the part that had been lonely longer than I cared to admit, didn't want to try.
Chapter 9
Heather
Dante's hand was warm and steady on my shoulder as he guided me toward the man I'd glimpsed at the nurses' station. Up close, he was even more imposing than I'd realized; his broad shoulders filled out his jacket with the kind of bulk that spoke of serious physical work, his wild green eyes seeming to take in everything at once, and an energy that crackled just beneath the surface, like barely contained lightning.
"Heather," Dante said softly, "I'd like you to meet Angus. He's... family."
The word hung between us with a weight that suggested it meant more than simple blood relations. Angus extended a hand that dwarfed mine when I shook it, his grip firm but careful, as if he were conscious of his own strength.
"Aye, pleased tae meet ye, lass," he said, his accent wrapping around the words like warm honey poured over rough stone. "Dante's been tellin' us about ye and yer mam. How're ye holdin' up?"
There was genuine concern in his voice, not the polite inquiry of a stranger making conversation, but the kind of interest that suggested my answer actually mattered to him. I found myselfstudying his face, looking for signs of the calculation or hidden agenda I'd learned to watch for in people who offered help.
"I'm managing," I replied, which was both true and completely inadequate to describe the reality of keeping the children fed while watching my mom slowly die.
"Dante mentioned ye run an orphanage," Angus continued, settling into a nearby chair with movements that were surprisingly graceful for someone his size. "That's no small thing, especially after what the city's been through."
I felt myself straightening slightly, the way I always did when people questioned whether I was qualified for the work I'd been doing. "It's not officially an orphanage anymore. The city shut us down after the earthquake, saying the building wasn't safe enough for institutional use. But the children had nowhere else to go."
"So ye kept them anyway," Angus said, and there was something like approval in his voice.
"What else was I supposed to do?" The question came out sharper than I'd intended, but I was tired of having to justify keeping children safe when no one else was willing to step up. "Let them go into a system that was already overwhelmed? Watch them get separated and placed with strangers who might not understand what they've been through?"
Angus held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Easy, lass. I'm not criticizing. Just trying tae understand what makes ye tick."
I took a deep breath, letting the antiseptic hospital air fill my lungs while I tried to organize thoughts that felt scattered by exhaustion and worry. I sighed. "My mom stayed by my side when my birth pack threw us out when they realized I was an Omega. They said it was shameful to produce a child who'd never be able to lead." The old pain flickered through me, familiar but still sharp around the edges. "Mom found theorphanage, agreed to help run it in exchange for somewhere safe for us to live."
