I don’t answer.
He doesn’t need me to.
“It would have rewritten everything,” he says. “A cure. An answer. The end of biological hierarchy as we know it! I would have restored balance. Restored order.”
“You would have erasedme,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. “I would have saved you.”
The words are almost tender.
That’s what makes them terrifying.
He moves his hand inside his coat.
I see the syringe before I fully register what I’m looking at.
Clear barrel.
Metallic glint.
Liquid already drawn.
My breath leaves my lungs in a broken sound.
“I’ve refined it,” he says, stepping closer. “The last iteration was unstable. The bite you were subjected to accelerated presentation before I could intervene. That won’t happen again.”
“You can’t reverse this,” I say, backing away, but terrified that I’m wrong.
“I can.” His eyes burn with conviction.
“My omega is already activated,” I continue, my voice shaking. “You can’t just erase that. It could be dangerous.”
“I can suppress the genomic markers permanently,” he says, almost impatient now. “Force expression down. Rewrite the pathways. Even now. I’m certain you won’t die. Not like your mother.”
The wall meets my back.
My mother? He did this to her too? That’sreallyhow she died?
All these years and I had no idea?
The hallway suddenly feels too narrow, too small.
I’m not a person to him,a voice in my head whispers.I’m a prototype.
“You were meant to secure everything,” he continues, words spilling faster now. “Funding. Political leverage. My title reinstated. The reform agenda passed. Do you know how many parties are waiting for proof that omegas can be corrected?”
Corrected.
My skin crawls.
“I’m not broken,” I whisper. “I don’t need correction.”
“You are compromised,” he snaps.
The word slices through me.
“I willnotlet you be claimed,” he says, voice lowering. “I will not let you become breeding stock for men who see you as nothing but heat cycles and leverage.”