He’s not as forbidding as I thought he would be. His dark hair is slightly messy, sticking up at the back. He’s older, but still clearly fit. His shirt bunches where his muscles strain against the fabric. It’s when he raises his eyes to me that I flinch back.
There’s nothing there. His pale green gaze is completely empty, almost as if he doesn’t see me at all. My heart kicks uncomfortably in my chest. Belatedly, I drop my gaze to the floor, realizing that not only am I standing in the presence of two alphas, but I also just made eye contact with the most senior alpha at the compound.
Fuck my actual life. I’m definitely gonna get a beating for this. Jason kicks the back of my leg and I collapse back down to the floor with a pained grunt. Hardly the picture of a graceful omega.
The Director says nothing, tapping his fingers on the desk as he waits for Jason to explain why we’re here.
“Sir,” Jason rushes out. “There’s been an incident in the dining hall. I was forced to discipline 792 for displaying negative behaviors and shephysically attackedme.”
He points dramatically to his cheek, smears of blood turning to rusty brown around the scratches I made. I clench my fists, wishing I’d made better use of the opportunity and kicked him in the nuts. The world would be much better off without any future tyrannical little Jason brats running around.
The Director catches my movement, flicking his pale gaze down to my side. I force myself to relax.
“I had to use the alpha bark to subdue her, Sir.”
The Director shifts in his seat, and Jason falls quiet.
I fight not to roll my eyes at the use of my designation. 792. Here, omegas are just a number. I mean, God forbid they think of us aspeople.
After a moment, the Director sits back in his seat, clasping the tips of his fingers together.
“What do you want, Harding?” His voice is harsh, impatient, but he speaks quietly. “Clearly there’s something, or you wouldn’t be here bothering me.”
Jason hesitates before speaking this time. I suck in a breath, holding it in anticipation.
What’s it going to be? Isolation? Reduced food rations? A whipping?
Been there, got the fucking t-shirt.
“Sir, we have previously discussed 792 acting as the first trial subject for the Phoenix project. I believe that her behavior today has demonstrated once again that she is the perfect candidate, and I propose that we move ahead with the trial.”
My forehead crumples with confusion.What in the ever-flying fuck is this?I’ve never heard anything about a trial. A trial for what?
Glancing up from beneath my lashes, I see the Director lean forward as he considers Jason’s words. I find myself praying that he says no.
Anything that gets Jason this excited will not turn out well for me.
Finally, he speaks. “The Phoenix project is still in development, Harding. We’re not at the stage where it’s been categorically confirmed that the project is even viable.”
Jason puffs up his chest, his words dripping with self-importance.
“The board is very keen to progress with the pilot, Sir. My father has spoken of it to me on several occasions. I’m sure he’ll be delighted that we have identified such asuitablecandidate.”
There’s an inherent threat in his words. This isn’t good. My stomach starts churning, and I watch the Director’s response closely.
The man in front of me sighs. For a second, he looks tired. It’s just a flash, though, before his face settles back into expressionless lines.
Reaching down, he pulls a manilla folder from a drawer in his desk, flipping through it. The folder has my number on it, and he pauses on some of the pages, his eyes scanning the contents.
“I can see why 792 has been identified.” His gaze suddenly moves to my face, and I drop my eyes again, caught out for a second time. Stupid fucking rules.
“You can look up, 792.” The quiet offer shocks me for a moment, but I’m not about to lose the opportunity. My head shoots up and I look straight into the Director’s green eyes.
“Do you know anything about the Phoenix project, Harper?” The use of my name makes me jolt. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an alpha use it before. He speaks slowly, deliberately.
He motions at me to speak when I remain silent. “No, Sir. But it doesn’t sound good.”
Immediately, I want to shrivel up as he raises a brow at me. He didn’t ask for my opinion. Why do I always let my mouth run away with me?
