Theodore sighed and let the curtain fall back into place. The hum of construction beyond the windows faded slightly as he pushed it out of his mind. He paced away from the view, rubbing the side of his neck again, then finally dropped back down onto the couch with a groan that sounded more tired than annoyed.
"Out of sight, out of mind," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
His phone buzzed again—probably another message from a student or a notification from one of his teaching groups. He unlocked it with a swipe, intending to check something quick, but then thumbed over to his feed without thinking.
Just scrolling. Just… escaping. Escaping from thoughts of Damian.
Photos, memes, selfies from his friends and acquaintances, and food. Then his scrolling thumb paused.
A trending post flashed by—taken at some formal event. The man in the foreground stood with imposing grace. Dark military blues, and piercing eyes that seemed to stare down the camera itself. He wasn't smiling.
The caption read: "Defense Minister Morrow, formerly a General in the Western Military Corps addresses rumors about the classified Pureline Program. 'There is no truth to these conspiracies. The government has never authorized experiments on civilian omega populations.'"— National Broadcast Agency (LIVE)
Theodore's breath caught.
Vincent Morrow. He hadn't heard that name in a long time. The last time he'd seen it, it was on the header of an academic journal—some bland article about military resource distribution. He blinked, thumb hovering just above the screen. The post had tens of thousands of comments.
"Pureline isn't real. Stop being delusional."
"They experimented on omegas in the western sectors, I saw it firsthand. They just disappeared after."
"You people believe anything. Don't drink the conspiracy Kool-Aid."
"Why does the military need scent inhibitors in bulk?"
"Morrow's lying. He always lies."
Experimenting on omegas? It sparked fear in Theodore's heart, after all he was an omega himself. Theodore's jaw tightened. He didn't want to believe it, but he'd heard things—whispers during university, rumors in the underground omega circles. Disappearances. Quiet payoffs.
His fingers curled around his phone and he resolved his heart to read through the comments.
"He says we're a priority but can't even guarantee safe heat shelters?"
"Funny how all his 'donations' went to controlling us, not helping us."
Theodore scrolled faster.
"I don't trust that man. I don't care how clean his suit is."
"I'd rather run into the woods than let anyone inject me again."
Even well-known omega influencers, ones with families, careers, polished reputations, were speaking out. Calling Morrow's words what they were: a performance.
Theodore paused, thumb hovering over one message from a verified omega public figure:
"If they cared about us, we wouldn't be afraid to go to the doctor. Stop telling us we're safe when you're the ones holding the knife."
Theodore's fingers twitched.
That last comment lingered It struck a nerve so deep he had to set the phone down again, face-down this time, as though even seeing the screen would invite something in. He stared at the ceiling. For a few moments, he didn't move. Just… breathed.
He wasn't naive. Omegas were always the first to feel pressure when systems cracked. They were the ones whose "protection" came with collars. Whose care came with tracking, with policies wrapped in barbed wire and called compassion.
Theodore curled his legs up onto the couch, hugging his knees to his chest. It was a position he hadn't taken since he was a teenager, tired, angry, stuck between protest and obedience. He hated that it came back so easily. Like muscle memory.
Damian. He thought of him again, even though he didn't want to. The reinforced villa, the sealed vents, the rushed construction. The panic room.
Theodore had brushed it off as another manic obsession, a way to ease his guilt. But what if it wasn't? What if he was preparing for something… real?
No. Don't do this. Don't spiral.
But even as he told himself to stop, the question formed, poisonous and persistent.
What does Damian know that I don't?
He reached for the phone again, this time more carefully. He opened his saved messages, scrolled, hesitated and then opened an old message with Rhea, one of his former classmates from the omega scholarship program. She was smart, too smart to be in the kind of trouble she ended up in. Last he'd heard, she was working off-grid in medical shelters outside of registered zones.
The last message she'd sent him was almost a year ago.
"Theo, if anything ever happens, don't trust the state clinics. They're testing something. Stay safe. Don't ignore the whispers."
Theodore stared at Rhea's message, his mind racing. He'd always trusted her. She had been the one to show him the ropes during their omega scholarship program, the one who had been a step ahead of the rest of them, always alert, always questioning. But after graduation, she.. disappeared. No one knew where she was anymore.
His thumb hovered over the screen, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. Should he reach out to her now? He hadn't spoken to Rhea in almost a year, not since she'd sent that cryptic warning. Could it be tied to what was happening now? The rumors, and... maybe even Damian's "renovations."