Page 134 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

“Drive,” she says.

I drive. Neither of us speaks. Sophie stares out the window with her arms crossed, and I grip the steering wheel and let the silence do what my words can’t.

Twenty minutes later, the shelter appears at the end of a long, tree-lined road—a converted Victorian mansion, three stories of weathered brick and white trim, surrounded by gardens that someone clearly loves. A sign by the entrance reads ELAINE HOUSE.

I pull into the small parking lot and cut the engine.

Sophie looks up at the building, then at me.

“An omega shelter,” she says flatly.

“Yes.”

“Why are we at an omega shelter?”

“This is where Marcia lives.”

Confusion crosses her face.

“The woman from the trial,” Sophie says slowly. “The seventy-year-old. She lives in an omega shelter.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I unbuckle my seatbelt. “That’s not my story to tell. But she’ll tell you, if you ask.”

I check my watch.

“We’ll wait a few minutes. Dinner’s about to start. Everyone will be in the dining hall.” I pause. “I’m an alpha, Sophie. Walking into an omega shelter unannounced could frighten people. I called ahead and let Marcia know we were coming. She’s expecting us.”

Sophie stares at me. I can’t read her expression. Can’t tell if she’s starting to understand, or if she thinks this is all an elaborate performance.

We wait. Somewhere inside the house, a bell rings for dinner.

I check my watch again, then open my door.

“Let’s go.”

The inside of Elaine House is warm and lived-in—the kind of place that smells like cooking and laundry detergent and the particular comfort of shared spaces. We pass through a small foyer, empty now with the residents at dinner, and up a flight of stairs to the second floor.

Marcia’s room is at the end of the hall. The door is open.

She’s sitting by the window when we walk in, a book open in her lap, her silver hair catching the last of the evening light. When she sees me, her whole face transforms—a smile breaking across her weathered features.

“Max.” She sets the book aside and rises, slower than she used to but still steady. “There he is. My favorite visitor.”

“Marcia.” I can’t help but smile back.

She reaches for me and I let her pull me into a hug—brief, warm, her small frame surprisingly strong. When she pulls back, her eyes go to Sophie, standing uncertain in the doorway.

“And you must be Sophie.” Marcia’s gaze is sharp, but not unkind. “Max has told me about you.”

Sophie’s gaze shifts to me. I don’t react. But Marcia is smart—she’s been reading people her whole life, and I told her more on that phone call than I intended to.

“I’ll wait in the car,” I say. “Take as long as you need.”

Sophie’s brow creases.