POV: Aurora
The message arrives mid-morning.
"Subject: We'll talk today. Stop by my office at the end of your shift."
That's all. Signed: D.
My stomach tightens. The memory of last night is still fresh in my mind: the terrace, the cold air, his hand brushing my hair away from my neck, the heat pushing from within.
I try to focus on Seraphim. I get lost in the tables. Every time I read "register," my mind replaces it with something else.
Register of omegas.
It's not written in any report, but I know it exists.
At the appointed time, I put everything away and take the elevator.
On the fortieth floor, the receptionist smiles at me as if this were routine. My hands are sweaty.
I knock on the door.
"Come in," says Dante.
I enter. He is standing by the window, without a jacket, his sleeves rolled up.
"Sit down," he says.
I obey.
"You said you wanted to know when I took another step closer to the fence," he begins. "This is that step."
I swallow hard.
"Does the fence have a name?" I ask.
"It has several," he replies. "Today we'll use one: registry.
The word hangs in the air.
"I've seen reports," I say. "Lists of people registered as alpha, beta, omega. I never thought I'd be on one of those.
"That's the surface," he replies. "Database, supposed protection. What matters is how it's actually used."
"Explain," I ask.
He sits across from me, no desk between us.
"When an omega awakens, they have two real options," he says. "Register in their own name with a neutral guardian, or register under a clan or an alpha. On paper, it's a choice. In practice, there's almost always pressure."
"Neutral guardian?" I ask.
"Designated doctors, institutions," he replies. "They sound good, but they have little power. If a clan decides to go after an omega with that registration, the law follows behind, not ahead."
I think of Valcourt.
"And the clans?" I ask.
"In a clan, registration becomes a contract," he replies. The omega comes under the name of the clan or an alpha. In exchange, they receive housing, security, resources. Also debt. Loyalty. Exclusivity.
The word brushes against my skin.
"Exclusivity of what?" I ask.
"Everything," he replies. "Time, body, work. Some houses treat their omegas like jewels. Others, like property. Valcourt is closer to the latter.
I swallow hard.
"What do they do with them?" I ask.
"Whatever suits them," he says. "Political partners, sources of blood and pheromones, bargaining chips. An omega in that kind of clan no longer decides where they live or who sees their medical records."
Every sentence weighs heavily.
"What if I register 'in my own name'?" I ask.
"You're in a gray area," he replies. "In theory, you're free. In practice, any clan feels entitled to tempt, pressure, or buy you. You're visible and 'available.'"
I take a deep breath.
"Where do I fit into all this?" I ask.
His eyes lock onto mine.
"You're more valuable than the average omega," he says. You're intelligent, you can handle Seraphim, you don't have a strong family behind you. If they register you, they gain a biological resource and a useful mind at the same time.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
"And you," I say. "What exactly are you offering me?"
"To register you under my name and my clan's," he says. "Formally, you would be an omega protected by Noir. No one could approach you without it counting as an assault. If Valcourt tried, he'd run into me and mine.
The word "mine" hits me.
"Sounds like an expensive collar," I say. "Beautiful, but just as tight."
"It is a collar," he replies. "The difference is in who holds the leash and what they do with it."
"And what do you do?" I ask. "What do you gain?"
"I gain that no one else will use you," he replies. "I gain an analyst who won't disappear in a foundation hotel. I gain the peace of mind of knowing that if your body gets out of control, I'll be nearby and not a stranger.
His sincerity strikes me.
"And what do I gain?" I insist.
"A place to sleep without looking at the door every five minutes," he says. "Being able to continue working. A clear framework: you'll know who's in charge of your file and your crises. And it won't be Valcourt."
He leans forward slightly.
"And you'd gain something I'm not going to embellish," he adds. "If you accept, your body and your name will be linked to mine in a system that can't be erased with a click." In the eyes of many, you'll be 'the omega of Noir'.
A chill runs down my spine.
"So my options are," I summarize, "to remain public and wait for anyone to tag me; to let a clan like Valcourt buy me; or to surrender to his surname and trust that he won't break me.
"Your options are to decide who you give power to that others will try to take anyway," he corrects. "You may hate the game, but you're already in it."
My throat burns.
"You want me to thank you for offering me a luxury cage before they throw me into a pit," I say.
"I want you to see the pit," he replies. "And then choose."
He leans back in his chair.
"You don't have to decide today," he adds. "Think. Ask questions. Talk to whoever you want, as long as you don't give anyone your name. But we don't have months."
I look at the window. Nova Lyra shines as if nothing were wrong.
I feel the opposite.
"What if I accept and then regret it?" I ask.
"Then we'll be bound in ways that will make that regret even heavier," he says. "That's why I prefer you to make that decision with your eyes open."
I get up slowly.
"I'm not going to give you my answer today," I say.
He nods.
"That's fine for now," he replies. "Go home." You're working tomorrow. And if anyone else offers you "protection," tell me first.
I grab the folder with trembling hands.
When I leave the office, the hallway looks different.
Registration. Clan. Name.
For the first time, the question isn't whether someone is going to write theirs over mine.
It's what I'm going to let it be.