Page 63 of Run Omega Run
Chapter 26
Heather
The sobs that tore from my chest came from places deeper than grief, rawer than loss. They were the sounds of a world ending, of everything safe and known being consumed by flames that cared nothing for love or loyalty or the family we'd built from society's lost children. My body convulsed against Angus's chest as waves of anguish crashed over me with a force that made breathing impossible.
His large hands stroked my hair with surprising gentleness, his chocolate scent wrapping around me like comfort I didn't deserve. "Shh, I've got ye. I've got ye, and I'm not lettin' go."
Around us, the children had arranged themselves in a tight cluster on the grass, their faces reflecting trauma that would mark them for years to come. Loubie Lou clutched her rescued bunny with desperate intensity while tears streamed down her cheeks. Tomas had wrapped his blanket around his shoulders like armor, his eyes wide and staring at the flames consuming the only home most of them had ever known. Dylan and Denson sat close together, their faces pale but their arms around each other in mutual comfort that broke my heart with its necessity.
Bennett paced in front of our group like a caged predator, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscles jumping beneath his skin. His demeanor had sharpened to something dangerous,mixing with smoke and rage, creating an atmosphere that spoke of violence.
"This wasn't an accident," he growled, his voice carrying a cold fury that made enemies reconsider their life choices. "The timing, the speed of spread, the way it started simultaneously on multiple floors. This was arson."
Angus nodded grimly above my head, his arms tightening protectively around my shaking form. "Aye," he agreed, his Scottish accent darkening with promises I didn't want to examine too closely. "And I know exactly who's responsible for it."
Cole's response was quietly clinical, but his toffee scent carried undertones of something far more dangerous than his calm tone suggested. "They made a mistake," he said simply. "They left witnesses. And they underestimated how far we're willing to go to protect what's ours."
Dante moved among the children. But even his tenderness couldn't hide the way his hands shook, or the darkness that flickered behind his eyes when he looked at our burning home.
"They'll pay," he said quietly, his voice carrying the absolute certainty of someone who'd already begun planning retribution. "They'll pay for every tear, every nightmare, every moment of fear they've caused these children."
Lost in grief, anger, and pain, I watched as another section of the roof collapsed with a thunderous crash that sent sparks shooting into the night sky like stars. The children pressed closer together at the sound, their faces turned away from the destruction that was too large and terrible for young minds to fully process.
But I couldn't look away from the second-floor windows where orange light flickered with increasing intensity. Somewhere behind that glass, in the room where I'd spentcountless hours sharing quiet conversations about dreams and fears, my mom was dying alone.
The knowledge settled into my bones like winter cold, numbing and permanent and absolute in ways that would shape every moment that followed. Whatever came next would happen in a world where the woman who'd taught me everything about love and strength was nothing but memory and ash.
I watched through tear-blurred eyes as the place where we'd read bedtime stories just hours earlier disappeared into an inferno. The braided rug where the children had gathered in their pajamas, the mismatched quilts, and the bookshelf filled with stories we'd never finish reading... all of it feeding flames that seemed to dance with malicious pleasure.
But it was the collapse of the second floor that broke something fundamental inside my chest. The roof beam that crashed through Mom's bedroom sent up a column of sparks that seemed to reach toward heaven itself, carrying with it every prayer I'd whispered at her bedside, every hope I'd harbored for more time, more conversations, more moments to tell her how much she'd meant to me.
The woman who'd taught me that family was built from love rather than blood, who'd shown me that strength could be gentle and fierce at the same time, who'd spent her final conscious hours worrying about my happiness rather than her own pain... she was gone. Not just dying anymore, but gone, consumed by flames set by men who saw us as nothing more than obstacles to be eliminated.
Consciousness fully returned with that realization, cutting through the fog of head injury and shock to deliver awareness I wasn't ready to handle. "She's gone," I whispered against Angus's chest, the words tearing from my throat like a confession extracted under torture. "She's really gone."
His arms tightened around me with strength that was both protective and necessary. Without his solid presence, I might have dissolved into the grief that threatened to consume me.
"Aye, love," he murmured. "But she wouldn't want ye to give up. Not when there's still family needin' ye to be strong."
He was right, and I hated him for being right when all I wanted was to collapse into the anguish that felt like my only honest response to this magnitude of loss. But the children were watching me with faces streaked by soot and tears, their eyes wide with the particular terror that came from seeing the adults they depended on fall apart in front of their eyes.
They'd lost their home, their security, their sense of safety in the world. They couldn't lose me too, not when I was the only constant they had left in a universe that had just proven how quickly everything familiar could be stripped away by violence and flame.
I forced myself to straighten in Angus's arms, though my body protested every movement. "I'm okay," I said, directing the lie toward small faces that needed to believe it more than they needed truth. "We're all okay."
