“It sure fucking does,” I agree.
* * *
Despite our mission being complete,our work is far from done. I spend the weekend going from safe house to safe house with Mai, Cassian and Marcus, checking on the omegas.
Alena’s team made it out of the facility with a single, unfinished collar prototype, and Simon and Ian work on dismantling it and studying the pieces.
We get word around midday on Saturday that all the guards and scientists from the facility have been processed into police custody, but Graeme isn’t sure how long they’ll remain there, especially once the Soldiers find out where they’re being held.
Still, despite all the work that we still have to do, the mission was a resounding success. We’ve dealt Project Halcyon a devastating blow and freed fifty omegas.
I’d feel better about it if I wasn’t waiting for Rad’s retaliation.
I’m back to being jumpy, scanning the internet for new interviews or articles about him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And it will.
Until then, we heal.
All the omegas are malnourished and weak, to say nothing of the invisible wounds every single one of them bears. Those, I know, will take much, much longer to heal.
* * *
It takesIan three days to develop a working theory on how to unlock the collars, and only seconds for one of the omegas to volunteer to have her collar unlocked.
“We don’t know what will happen if I get this wrong,” he explains. “Something bad could happen to you.”
Tell him that something bad has already happened. And not to get it wrong.
All the newly freed omegas have begun communicating with me in this way. While I was hesitant to reveal my affinity to so many, I don’t regret letting the freed omegas know. Saints, they have so much to say. They’ve been silenced for so long, unable to express themselves, and now that they can ‘talk’ to me, they do.
Aimee, Ian’s volunteer, is an omega about my age, and since being rescued from the facility, she’s grown increasingly bubbly. The others in the same safe house look to her as a sort of protector and leader, and I know that influences her decision to volunteer. She claims one of the kitchen chairs, squares her shoulders and notches her chin up so Ian can examine the glittering sigils on the collar.
“She says not to fuck it up,” I tell Ian brightly, and Aimee grins.
“I agree,” Mai says from the kitchen counter she’s perched on. The young healer insisted on being present for any attempts to remove the collars in case anything goes wrong. “Don’t fuck it up, Ian.”
Ian rolls his eyes at the two of us. “Saints, no pressure. Just two of the most intelligent and accomplished women I know, judging me while I attempt the impossible.”
Aw, this one’s a sweetie.
“And mine,” I remind her, a slight edge to my voice.
Down, girl. The only thing I want from your alpha is for him to remove this collar. Tell him to stop stalling.
“She’s ready,” I tell Ian.
Ian nods and takes a deep breath, studying the scrap of paper he’s written the unlocking spell he created on. He draws his scribe, and I hold my breath as he casts the thirty sigils of his spell.
The telltale click can’t be very loud, but in the quiet kitchen, it’s thunderous.
“Try now,” Ian tells Aimee quietly. He’s made it a point not to touch any of the omegas without their express permission, since the touch of alphas—alpha men especially—makes many of them uncomfortable.
The omega reaches up for the collar with shaking hands and pulls it apart. It swings open on its hinge, falling away from her throat, and she drops it, scrambling up in her chair to get away from it as it clunks to the floor.
Ian stoops and prods it with the tip of his scribe, but it’s inert and dark, just a piece of metal, wires and circuits. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands, and then holds it out to Aimee gently.
She pokes at it cautiously. “It’s… it’s over?”
