Chapter 5: _ The Omega

The scent flies to his nose before the door bursts open. Not even the door, her heartbeat. It spikes down the hall like a spark on dry grass. Darien tenses, fingers twitching on the spine of the book he hasn’t been reading for the past ten minutes. She’s close. And then... bang! Heidi bursts into the study room, wild-eyed, breath heaving like a hunted thing. Her eyes scan the dim room, catch his, and go wide with the horror of recognition. Good. She remembers him, and that’s why he pretends like he didn’t. Darien slowly straightens from the windowsill, where he’s been goofing off with fake disinterest. The tinge of her scent, the sweat, fear, and that deliciousness hit him again. There’s a softness in it, buried under the raw nerves. Jasmine and mashed cedar. It coils in his chest and lower, spiraling down like a snare he didn’t see coming. "Kairos, what the hell is this?" He asks his wolf. "You want her, Darien." Replies Kairos. His wolf is pacing. Pacing because of the girl from earlier. The Moon-Blessed Omega, who got cornered by the vultures near the East Wing lockers. He had watched it all, ready to intervene, and was surprised when Amias did. The great, arrogant first son, Amias. "Damn it," Darien mutters under his breath. Because that’s impossible. She is impossible. Heidi—the transfer Omega who doesn’t know her place, who stares at Alphas like she’s trying to read their expiration date... she isn’t supposed to smell like this. She staggers, and for a moment, he wonders if she’s going to pass out right there, but she doesn’t. She clenches her fists like she wants to punch air, chin lifted high in that ridiculous, stubborn little act of defiance she wore earlier. Darien is already moving before he realizes it... away from the window, and toward her. "Why am I moving toward her?" Because something’s wrong. He can see it in her eyes. Because she might be a mate. Because of what she overheard. And yeah, maybe it’s also because his brain short-circuited the moment her scent touched it. He leans back against one of the high study tables, pretending this is nothing. Like it’s just a normal day, or just a pathetic Omega crashing into the sacred heart of Duskwind. Hence, "You always break into private spaces when you’re panicking? Or am I special?" he teases. Heidi grimaces. He watches her pull herself back together in real-time. Her mouth hardens, her spine straightens, her pride is rising, but it’s cracked. She’s trembling. She tries to hide it, but he sees. He sees everything. "I already told you I didn’t mean to." Darien arches a brow. "Oh, the ’seniors who want to sell off Omegas?" She looks away. "I... I overheard something I wasn’t supposed to." His breath stills. Here it is. This is it. "Something... bad," she adds, blinking hard, as if she’s trying to decide whether she should trust him or throw herself out the nearest window. He already knows what she’s talking about. The trafficking. The disappearing first-years. The assignment their father dumped on them and their brothers. "Fix this," the Alpha King had said, looking down from his iron throne with those blank, calculating eyes. "Make yourselves useful." Translation: earn your worth. Beat your brothers to it. Prove you’re not just your mother’s son, but mine. Darien had taken it in stride on the outside. But on the inside? He’d tasted bile. Their father didn’t give orders out of protection. He gave them of strategy. If girls were being sold, it wasn’t about justice but leverage. Reputation. Image. Everything had a cost, even justice. The task assigned to them is to uncover whatever shady dealings were going on under the academy’s nose. It was supposed to be a competition. Whoever solves it earns the most favor. The closest thing they’ve got to a shot at the title of heir. Heidi may have just handed him a grenade with a bow on it. So yeah, Darien wanted to stop it. But not just for his father. For himself and the points. For the pride. For his mother, who still looked at him like he was the second-best mistake she ever made. And maybe, just maybe, because the look on Heidi’s face right now is turning his blood to ice. "What did you hear?" he asks. She chews her lip. "You wouldn’t believe me." "Try me." And she does. She tells him in bursts about the corridor behind the library, the senior boys, the conversation about virgins, rogue packs, and keeping it hidden. She doesn’t look at him while she speaks because she doesn’t dare. But Darien can feel her watching him all the same. When she’s done, silence stretches long between them. Tris is no longer pacing. He’s growling. Darien exhales through his nose. "You should’ve reported this." "I— I ran here just running away from them. Moreover, they said... They said even the Headmaster looks away. And if they found me... " Her voice breaks, and he hates it. He hates that she’s shaking. He hates that her scent is still dragging nails down his insides. But most of all, he hates that she’s probably right. "They won’t find you," he says quietly. She looks up, startled. "You’re under my protection now." There’s a little silence, until she bursts out laughing, though it’s bitter and short and trembling. "Your protection?" she echoes. "Because that means so much when you’re a Bellamy." She spits the name like it’s poison. Darien stiffens. "I’ve seen how you people treat Omegas," she continues. "Like we’re animals. Like we’re less than animals. And you think saying a pretty sentence is going to make me feel safe? You’re all the same." Her voice rises louder than it should. Too loud. Darien grabs her wrist before he thinks about it, dragging her toward him with the kind of gentleness that still carries threat. Her eyes flare wide. "You think I’m them? You think I’m selling first-years to rogues for sport?" She glares, struggling in his grip. "You’re a Bellamy." "And you’re an idiot," he snaps. "Because you don’t get to walk into this room, drop information that could save lives, and then act like you’re the victim when someone tries to help you." "I didn’t ask for your help!" "Well, tough." He’s too close now. Her breath thumbs when his hand brushes her waist, whether by accident or deliberately, he’s not sure. The heat between them is unbearable. His wolf is howling. "She smells right." "She feels right." But she’s an Omega. A nobody. A disgrace.