Icrackmyknuckles;the sound echoing through the sterile, sixty-eight-degree chill of the IT hub. The blue light from Theo’s monitors glints off the silver name tag, a constant reminder of the fake identity I wear every day. My skin feels tight and itchy, a side effect of the Alpha-suppressants I downed an hour ago that kill my pheromones.
Being this close to our Omega without being able to walk upstairs and claim her grates against every instinct I possess. Every time I think about that intruder standing in Zora’s foyer, I want to hit something. She belongs to us. That person represents a threat to everything we’ve built here.
Reid paces the center of the room. He discarded his black suit jacket, leaving him in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looks like a man ready to tear this building apart to find the breach.
“The pneumatic mail shafts provided the path.” Reid stops, gesturing toward the blueprints glowing on a secondary screen. “I spent the morning mapping the old lines. The builders hid these shafts behind the modern plumbing during the 2023retrofitting. Someone used a pry bar to force the sub-basement hatch. They moved through the skeleton of the building to reach the thirteenth floor.”
I shift my weight, my hand resting on the radio at my hip. The plastic casing feels cold against my palm. “Every old entrance now contains a fresh weld. I personally watched the team seal the hatches from the sub-basement to the roof. We finished the one in her foyer entrance earlier this morning while Zora used the gym and the spa for that facial.”
Reid nods, his jaw set in a hard line. “Good. We can’t have another breach. It makes our promise of protection look like a lie.”
Theo spins his chair around, his honey-blonde hair falling in loose layers over his shoulders. He looks exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes stand out against his pale skin, likely from staring at code for ten hours straight. He taps a key, and a long, scrolling list of names fills the main monitor.
“I finished the deep-scrub of the Cross-Sterling records.” Theo points to a specific section of the digital archive. “I bypassed the encryption on the foster intake logs. We have the full list of survivors now. Ten children made it out of the fire, just like the news reports said.”
Micah leans over Theo’s shoulder, his wire-frame glasses reflecting the screen. “Ten. We account for five.” Micah rubs the bridge of his nose. “Who are the other five?”
Theo scrolls down the list.
“Two girls and three boys. One girl presents as a Beta now, and the other is an Omega. They both live in different states and pose no threat to us. That leaves the boys.”
I step closer to the monitor, my focus narrowing on the names. My pulse kicks up. I remember the yard. I remember the smell of the bleach and the sound of the fence rattling in the wind while we huddled together for warmth.
“Survivor #4: Elias Thorne.” Theo clicks a file open. “Currently serving ten to fifteen in a state penitentiary for armed robbery. He sat in a cell during the Polaroid incident.”
Micah lets out a sharp, bitter breath. Standing behind Theo. “It’s rich, isn't it?” Micah mutters. “We’re staring at high-res mugshots of kids we haven’t seen in fifteen years, but we don’t even have the one memory we had left. Two days and I still catch myself looking at the spot on my desk where that photo used to be.”
Theo pauses, his fingers hovering over the keys. He doesn't say anything; none of us do. We all know how much that 4x6 from the yard meant to Micah.
“The intruder destroyed the only physical proof we ever existed back then. He walked into my office and took our childhood, and all Theo can find are these digital ghosts. We’re losing the thread, Reid.”
Reid growls. "We're not losing anything, we're going to figure this out."
Theo scrolls to the next entry. “Survivor #6: George Martin. He lives in Chicago now. He works as an accountant and leads a perfectly normal life. No flags on his history. No way to confirm his presence in Heathstead during the incident.”
Theo pauses, his mouse hovering over the last name on the list.
“Survivor #9: Roman Vane.”
The name hangs in the air like a lead weight. I remember Roman. A pale, skinny kid with wide eyes who always tracked Zora’s every move. He spent hours scratching jagged shapes into the dirt of the yard while he watched her. We called him “The Watcher” back then. He never played with us. He never spoke. He just stared at Zora with an intensity that made her skin crawl. He occupied the edge of the group like a shadow that seemed to swallow the light.
“Roman had that obsessive streak.” Micah rubs the back of his neck. “He used to follow Zora around the edge of the playground. I remember Reid had to shove him away from her more than once. He looked at her like she was a prize he wanted to keep.”
Reid’s eyes narrow as he stares at the name. “What status does he hold now, Theo?”
“According to the medical examiner’s report from 2019, Roman Vane died in a halfway house fire.” Theo pulls up a digitized death certificate. “A kerosene heater tipped over in his room. The report confirmed the identity through dental records. He remains officially, legally dead.”
Reid scoffs, his lip curling in a sneer. “Dead. Just like the records claimed for us when we needed to vanish.”
“The report looks legitimate, Reid.” Theo taps the screen. “It has the state seal. The facility burned to the ground. If Roman Vane still exists, he rests as a pile of ash in a grave somewhere.”
Theo sighs as he leans back, his chair creaking in the silence. He then turns and looks at each of us, his blue eyes darkening.
“I’m sick of lying to her.” Theo’s voice drops, the boyish energy vanishing. “We hide behind these fake names while a real predator hangs around. We built this place to keep her safe, but we spend every day lying to her face. How will she ever fall for us if she only knows the masks? This idea sounded good four years ago; build a safe place for her and then reveal the truth. But we didn’t plan for a stalker to show up. I feel like we aren’t much better than him.”
I look at the floor, my heart echoing his sentiment. Every time she calls me Sawyer, I feel a piece of my soul crack. I want to tell her. I want her to see the man I became for her. But I stay silent, the Saturday mask still resting in the private unit down the hall, a physical reminder of the distance between us.
Reid’s gaze hardens as he faces Theo. “We ease her back into our lives, Theo. That’s the only way. If we tell her now, she’ll run. We’ll lose four years of planning. She needs to feel stable in the building first. She needs to trust the environment before she can trust the men inside it. We provide the sanctuary. The truth follows when she can handle the weight of it.”
