My reflection stares back from the mirror. I look wild, almost unfamiliar.
Eyes too dark.
Cheeks flushed dark against my naturally tan skin.
My heartbeat flickers visibly in the hollow of my throat, pulsing like it’s trying to escape.
Five more days.Then freedom.
Or something like it.
I pull my worn black slides out of my bag and set them on the floor, then zip everything up. My muscles already ache as I slowly stand. While I love ballet, my body isn’t exactly a fan. Maybe it’s because I’m not built like a traditional dancer. I’m too tall and thick in all the places ballet hates.
My thighs rub when I move, and I have to wear two sports bras just to keep my boobs from popping me in the face every time I try a grand jeté. But I love it too much to stop.
“Beautiful work tonight, Tansy,” Madame Korrin says as she steps back into the quiet room.
I catch the beta’s reflection in the mirror before I turn. She stands near the doorway with her arms folded, wearing that assessing look she never quite drops. Even now, after years of training under her, I straighten automatically. My spine lengthening, shoulders settling, chin lifting.
She can spot every flaw from twenty paces.
Madame Korrin’s expression softens a little as she steps closer. “I heard your thesis is under review with Gramore University. That’s quite an achievement for an omega.”
“Thank you,” I say, pulling the hair tie off my wrist and gathering my hair into a messy ponytail. Myscalp’s damp, dark red strands sticking to my upper back. “It was a lot of work doing it through a remote program, but worth it.”
Ithadto be done through a remote program. Real universities don’t accept omegas. Not into degree tracks, not into lecture halls, not into anything that counts. So the academies offer “special programs” of their own. Little certificates dressed up like diplomas. A fancy way to keep us busy until we mate.
Everyone knows it.
Everyone pretends otherwise.
But not me. I’m getting a real degree, from a real school, and I did it all on my own.
“And what was your paper about?” Madame asks, but it feels like she’s asking just to be polite.
My chest puffs out with pride. “An Examination of Omega Depictions in Prehistoric Art and Early Cultural Symbolism.”
She blinks. Her smile freezes, polite but empty. It’s the kind of smile people give you when they don’t understand what you’ve said and don’t really want to.
Madame lifts one perfectly manicured hand and smooths down the side of her sleek hair. “And what will you do with your degree, dear?”
There it is—that tone. The same careful, lifted sound everyone uses when they really want to askwhy bother.
But I don’t have an answer.
The truth is, I wanted to learn something that wasn’t about heat cycles or mating compatibility. Something that felt likemine.I never thought far enough ahead to figure out what I’d do with it after graduation. I mean, omegas aren’t exactly welcomed in the workforce.
We’re liabilities. Distractions. A safety risk for more important, working alphas.
Madame Korrin moves closer when I don’t answer. “Tansy.” My name leaves her mouth with a long sigh. “You should be thinking about settling down. You’ve spent so much time studying and writing papers, you’ve wasted valuable years you could have been meeting with prospective packs.”
“Yeah.” I give her a half-hearted shrug like I do every time someone says this to me. “But I wasn’t ready. I wanted to get a little life experience before I settled down.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying what I really think—that forcing eighteen-year-old omegas to find a pack is ridiculous, maybe even irresponsible.
How can anyone know what kind of mate they want for the rest of their life when they’re basically still a kid?
I meet her gaze head-on, steady. “I know,” I say, keeping my tone respectful even though a small, bitter part of me wants to tell her I’m not a child. “But there have been incredible advances lately. Medication that regulates pheromonal cycles and hormone stabilizers. Some unmated omegas in long-term care can live well into their fifties without any decline at all.”
Madame’s brows lift, surprised—and not pleasantly. A faint frown pulls between them.
