I curl tighter around myself, alone in this empty house, my omega crying out for pack.
"I don't know if I'm ready," I admit.
"Then take your time. But Jess? When that heat hits, you're going to need someone. And I'd rather it be four alphas who worship the ground you walk on than some stranger from a heat service." She pauses. "Or worse, Callum showing up and trying to stake a claim."
The thought makes my stomach cramp with fear. "He wouldn't."
"Are you sure? His mother knows you're omega. How long before she tells him? How long before he decides an omega mate is exactly what he needs to fix his image?"
She's right. I know she's right. The way he escalated in those texts, going from pleading to threatening so fast. The possessiveness Eleanor showed on the phone. They see me as property, not a person. And now that I'm omega...
"I need to go," I say suddenly, urgency flooding through me. "I need to... I don't know. Do something. Figure this out."
"Okay. But call me, yeah? Anytime. I mean it. I'm here for you." Stacey’s voice softens. "And Jess? I'm proud of you. Forleaving. For standing up for yourself. For being brave even when you're terrified."
"Thanks, Stacey. Love you."
"Love you too. And stop looking at Instagram. Nothing good ever comes from Instagram."
She hangs up.
I sit in the silence of the empty house, phone clutched in my hands, my omega screaming at me that I'm alone, vulnerable, unprotected.
I need to move. Need to get out of this house before the walls close in completely.
I pull myself out of bed and dig through my closet for clothes. Find a navy blue sweater that actually fits, jeans that are years old, but actually fit and button properly, warm socks. Trade Dad's shirt reluctantly, already missing his fading scent.
Ten minutes later, I'm dressed and pulling on my coat. The one from the wedding escape, still smelling faintly of rain and panic.
But underneath that, sandalwood and sawdust.
Carlos's scent. From when he touched my elbow. Still clinging to the fabric.
My omega wants to bury her face in it. Wants to follow that scent to its source. Wants pack and safety and alpha protection.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. I'm not thinking straight. My omega instincts are too strong, too new, too overwhelming.
I need air, because I need to figure out what I'm doing before my biology makes decisions for me.
The cold air hits me when I step outside, sharp and clean after the closed-in scent of the house. I suck in a breath, letting it fill my lungs, and my enhanced omega senses catalog everything.
And underneath it all, the faint traces of alpha scents on the wind. The town is full of them. Old Mr. Garrett's tobacco.Sheriff's deputy Chen's coffee and aftershave. The Whitfield boy's teenage alpha musk as he walks past.
I'm drowning in scent, my omega cataloging and categorizing, trying to find safety in the chaos.
I start walking without a destination in mind. Just moving. Putting one foot in front of the other. Trying to outpace the thoughts spiraling in my head.
But my feet have other ideas.
They take me past Main Street with its shops and decorations. Past the coffee shop where I used to study. Past the bookstore and the pizza place and all the familiar landmarks of my childhood.
And then I'm standing in front of a brick building with a flag pole out front and a patrol car in the lot.
The sheriff's station.
I should turn around. Go home. This is a bad idea. I'm not thinking clearly. My omega is driving me here, seeking pack, seeking protection, seeking the scent of leather and rain and steady alpha strength.
But my hand is already reaching for the door.
