Not because I had the right. But because Dalvin deserved a choice, and I was going to make sure he got one.
Even if that choice wasn't me.
***
Chapter 3
Dalvin
I woke to the sound of someone singing in the shower.
Not well. The voice cracked on the high notes and warbled through the low ones, cheerfully murdering a pop song I half-recognized from a decade ago. But there was joy in it, unself-conscious and bright, and I lay in my narrow bed listening to that joy with the bewildered fascination of someone encountering a foreign language.
My roommate. Theo Vasquez, according to the name on his luggage. He'd arrived late the night before, all rapid-fire Spanish and effusive apologies for waking me, and had proceeded to fill every corner of our shared space with his presence. Clothes draped over chairs. Toiletries scattered across the bathroom counter. A stuffed elephant tucked against his pillow that he'd caught me looking at and explained, without a trace of embarrassment, was named Ernesto and had been his companion since childhood.
I hadn't known what to do with any of it. With him.
The shower cut off. A few minutes later, Theo emerged in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped around his waist, dark curls dripping onto his brown shoulders. He was compact and muscular, built with curves in all the places society told omegas they should have them, and he moved through the room with the easy confidence of someone who had never been taught to shrink.
"Morning, roomie." He flashed me a grin, bright white against warm brown skin. "Big day. You ready?"
I sat up and pushed the hair out of my face. "Ready as I'll ever be."
"That's the spirit. Grim resignation. Very sexy." He rummaged through his suitcase and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs covered in cartoon avocados. "I'm going for cautious optimism myself. Figure one of us should balance out the energy in here."
"You're very cheerful for someone about to be hunted."
"Beats my last job. Night shifts at a warehouse in Tucson. You ever tried to operate a forklift at three in the morning? That's the real survival challenge." He stepped into the underwear and dropped the towel with zero modesty. "The Chase is just running around in the woods for a few days. And at the end, maybe I get a rich husband who thinks I'm pretty. Worse ways to spend a weekend."
I watched him dress with the detached curiosity of an artist studying an unfamiliar subject. Theo was everything I wasn't. Loud where I was quiet. Open where I was guarded. He took up space without apology, filled silences with chatter, smiled at strangers and expected them to smile back.
The past two days had been a masterclass in relentless friendliness. Theo had dragged me to meals when I would have skipped them, narrated his entire life story while I nodded along, and somehow extracted more words from me in forty-eight hours than I'd spoken to anyone except Rosa in the past year.
He knew I was running from someone. He never asked who. Instead, he filled the silence with stories about his three sisters in Phoenix, his grandmother's legendary tamales, the ex-boyfriend who'd cheated on him with a beta barista and was now, according to Theo's youngest sister's Instagram stalking,balding and miserable. He gave me pieces of his life without demanding pieces of mine in return.
Two days ago, that would have annoyed me. Now, after forty-eight hours of his warmth, I found myself almost grateful for the noise. It drowned out the constant hum of anxiety in my own head.
"What about you?" Theo pulled a tank top over his head and turned to face me. His eyes were dark and sharp, more perceptive than his sunny demeanor suggested. "What's your story? You've got that whole tragic backstory vibe going on."
"I don't have a vibe."
"Roomie. You hacked off half your hair with what I'm guessing were dollar store scissors, you flinch every time someone knocks on the door, and you sleep with your back to the wall." He sat on the edge of his bed and tilted his head. "I'm not asking for details. Just saying. Whatever you're running from, I hope you find what you're looking for here."
My throat tightened. I looked away.
"Come on." Theo stood and held out his hand. "Breakfast first. Then we face the wolves."
The morning was a blur of processing stations and clinical efficiency.
Grooming first. A team of betas descended on the omega dormitory with styling tools and cosmetics, transforming nervous faces into camera-ready masks. They evened out my uneven ends and shaped my shoulder-length hair into something deliberate, applied products that made the brown strands gleam under the fluorescent lights. Fingers worked through my hair with brisk efficiency, braiding sections back from my face. The scent of styling products filled my nose, chemical-sweet and cloying. I sat still and let them work. Being handled by strangers was nothing new.
Then medical. A final check of vitals, a confirmation of heat status. The doctor noted that my cycle was accelerating ahead of schedule and asked if I wanted suppressants to delay it.
I said no. The sooner the heat hit, the sooner this would be over.
The tracker implant came last. A beta technician swabbed my forearm with antiseptic, positioned a device that looked disturbingly like a piercing gun, and pulled the trigger. A sharp sting, a moment of pressure, and then a small red light blinked to life beneath my skin.
"GPS-enabled," the technician said, already moving to the next omega in line. "Accurate to within three meters. The light will pulse faster when an alpha is within fifty feet of your position."
