3. Jane

Self-healing is a tricky business.

Power isn't technically supposed to be used on yourself, but the Omega Services Division who oversees our recruitment, training, and wellbeing knows that even mercies need healing sometimes. Injuries can fester if left unchecked, and viruses can spread to vulnerable patients. But there's a very clear line – explained in minute detail in the Omega Healer Handbook - between healing for service and healing for personal gain. As with everything we do, there's a balance. And mercies must always give more than they take.

But when I finally pry my eyelids open, my first thought is to check how much power I have in reserve to deal with the hellish pain in my skull. I groan, twitching in agony. It feels worse than the time I was tossed off a horse on the commune and landed headfirst on a fence post.

My second thought is that while there's a well of power humming in my chest, I can't lift my hands. Not that I need to physically touch it to make use of it, but the fact my wrists are locked down at my sides is deeply disturbing.

Panic grips me; old vulnerabilities flaring along scorched nerves.

I tug on my wrists and flinch at the sharp bite of metal. Mother Mercy, I'm cuffed to the bed. My frantic gaze flicks around the room, taking in the stark gray walls and basic furniture. There's a small desk, a metal cabinet, and a wooden stool, but little else. The light flickers overhead, the hum of the bulb like angry static. And it's so cold, my now naked body is covered in goosebumps.

I wiggle, feeling the crinkle of a med pad under me. So I'm in a clinic? It doesn't smell like one, and the restraints aren't the usual leather ties. But the pain pulsing in the back of my head is enough to urge me to call for a doctor.

Except that when the door opens, the woman who enters is in the wrong kind of uniform. It's the navy blue of the Military Administration Division, and her scowl is anything but soothing.

"Omega, I'm going to uncuff you in a moment, and you are to dress and be ready to move. Do you understand this instruction?"

She's mid-thirties, and while a beta, has enough authority in her tone to make me nod. I wince, instantly regretting the action, but she's taken a key from her pocket and is focused on unlocking the cuffs. As soon as they're off, I rub my wrists, flinching as she drops a folded uniform in my lap. It's faded gray, the coarse fabric prickling my legs. "Get dressed."

She steps back but doesn't leave, and I sit up enough to drag the dress over my head. It's a shapeless tunic that reaches to my knees, but I can't see any identifying labels or patches. And if there's one thing the military loves, it's embroidery. "Where am I?" I ask, then flush at the thin squeak that comes out of me. I clear my parched throat and try again, "What's going on?"

"Keep your mouth shut and your eyes down. And if you dare try anything…" Her own words are infused with iron, storm clouds gathering in her pale eyes as she sucks air through her teeth. "Colonel York is a living hero! The fact you attacked him? And you dare to call yourself a mercy? Shame on you!"

She looks ready to flay me on the spot, but I'm struggling up on numb legs. "I didn't attack the colonel. I was helping him. He told me to…"

But she just hisses through her teeth again and grabs my arm, her fingers digging in cruelly. " Move , Omega. And don't you dare say another word unless you want me to slap it off your lying face."

I press my lips tight, focusing all my energy on staying upright as she drags me out of the room and into an empty corridor. It's as plain as the room I was in, the walls unpolished and the lighting dim. But as I stumble along, I can smell something beyond the blood caking the back of my head and the sour stink of my own sweat.

Alphas , I think, a moment before we round a corner, and I limp into their midst.

Unlike the last time I came upon a battalion of soldiers, this is the real thing. Not students doing drills, but battle-hardened men and women, their uniforms dirty and their faces grim. They're milling about in what looks like a troop depot, the far wall open to the elements. A huge metal ramp leads down to a row of personnel carriers, more soldiers and mechanics buzzing around them like busy ants.

It's not a hospital but a supply area, maybe a machine shop where they repair their vehicles. I've heard of these places, of course, but it's the first time I've ever seen them.

"Walk, Omega!" the administrator hisses, jerking on my arm. I pick up the pace, but I haven't taken ten shuffling steps before a soldier blocks our path.

"Is this her?" he demands, glaring down at me. He's big, all alpha, with a black stripe on his helmet and a rifle slung over his shoulder. His nameplate says Crow, his unit patch the Third Hunters, and according to his insignia, he's a platoon sergeant. Middle ranks, but still more important than a mercy.

"Get your fucking eyes off me, scum!" he snarls, his alpha bark making my hair stand on end. My gaze snaps to the ground, and he steps around the administrator until his weapon butts me in the chest. "You mess with the colonel; you mess with us. You. Are. Fucked . Omega. No matter what they decide in there, you're gonna be answering to me! "

I can't stop myself from flinching, since he's jabbed his weapon in my sternum with every word. And to punctuate his disgust, he spits a wad of chewing tobacco on my feet.

The administrator grabs my arm, cursing under her breath as other soldiers head our way. I don't look up from my sticky, tobacco-splattered feet, but I can feel them. Their hostile stares and sneering lips. Their twitching fingers, creeping towards the triggers of their weapons.

"Move, Omega!" the administrator hisses, all but dragging me through the nearest door. I hear boots behind us and muffled curses, but she flings me forward, poking me in the back. I stumble up a set of stairs and almost fall into a glassed-off room. A buzzer sounds and she pushes the door, urging me forward with another poke between my shoulder blades. My head spins, a fresh coat of icy sweat clinging to my limbs. But there's no time to rub it away, because I'm being marched into another cavernous room. Only this time there's less than twenty people inside. All in uniform, but more like the administrator at my side than the battle-worn soldiers who were ready to murder me.

"Bring her to the center of the room," a man barks and I flinch, my heart sinking as I count the number of stars on his shoulders. Four has to be a brigadier at least, the most highly ranked officer I've ever had the misfortune to meet.

"Omega," he growls when I've been shuffled into the middle of the room. I chance a quick glance around, and other than the dais they're sitting on, there's only a polished shield on the wall. I can't read the motto scrawled at the bottom, but I can see the hammer and the clenched fist of the United Armed Front of the Civin States. "This is a hearing to determine your culpability in the attack on a senior military officer. You will refer to everyone here as sir, regardless of rank or designation, and you will not speak unless spoken to. Do you understand?"

I nod, too frightened to utter a word, anyway.

But he grinds his teeth, dark eyes pinning me to the cold stone floor. "Tell us how you came to be in the presence of Colonel York and Lieutenant Steele."

I swallow hard, but there's no moisture in my mouth to loosen my tongue. "I was summoned," I manage in a dry croak.

"You were asked for by name?"

I'm clasping my sore wrists, as close to hugging myself as I dare. But it does nothing to fight off the chill that's crawling over my limbs, both from the temperature in the room and the fear coating my skin. "No. I don't think so. I was just the most senior mercy on duty at the time."

His lip curls, as if hearing the word duty fall from my mouth is an affront to everything he stands for. "What then?" he barks.

"I left the ward and went straight to the MAD building." My heart stutters under the ferocity of his glare and I quickly add, "The Military Administration Division. I spoke to the soldier on the desk and was told to go straight to the top floor."

"He shared the identity of your patient?"

I crinkle my brow, trying to remember. "I… I didn't know exactly. He mentioned a colonel."

"You didn't ask for more details? Clarification on who you were treating?"

"N-no," I stutter. "Rank doesn't matter to a mercy."

As soon as the words have left my mouth, I want to swallow them back, but he looks unconcerned by the slip. "And then you went straight to Colonel York's quarters?"

"Yes. Well… he met me at the elevator."

The officer's gaze sharpens, slicing into me like a blade. "The colonel met you."

"Yes. He took me through a common area." I flush, remembering the parade of winking backsides. "There was a class, doing drills. He sent them off, but they saw us. If you need witnesses…"

"Just answer the specific questions, Omega." The man next to him is frowning down at me, too, but my heart lifts an inch as I see the silver wings on his black uniform. The insignia of the Omega Services Division.

Relief curls through me. The division is responsible for the selection, training, and wellbeing of all omega healers on campus. He's not smiling by any means, but he's the closest thing to an ally I'm likely to get in this room.

"Yes, sir," I say quickly. "Colonel York took me straight to his quarters and introduced me to Lieutenant Steele."

The man gives a stiff nod, inviting more, and I describe Steele's condition, careful to use civilian terms. When I'm finished, I add, "I repeatedly suggested he be taken to the hospital, especially when I realized the extent of his injury. But Steele wanted to be seen by a mercy and York went along with him…"

" Colonel York!" The brigadier barks, almost frothing at the mouth. He casts a dark glance along the row of men flanking him, and I reluctantly follow his gaze. They're mostly junior officers, except for one man sitting at the end. The most obvious thing about him is that he's wearing a sleek business suit instead of a uniform. His hair is longer than the military men around him, peppered with gray, and his pale skin is marked with fine wrinkles. From the way he's staring at me, I don't think they're laugh lines.

But the brigadier just waves a hand, and the man from the Omega Services Division takes up the interrogation. "At what point did you decide to attack Colonel York?"

I blink at him. "What?"

"At what point did you decide to attack your patient, Omega? Did you enter the room with that intent, or did something happen once you were inside?"

I freeze, my mind as numb as my body. Attack York? I expect them to question me on the treatment I gave Steele – they'd found me splayed across his naked body, after all – but they can't know what I did to York…

"I was there to treat Steele. The lieutenant," I hurry to correct myself. " He was my patient. Colonel York wasn't interested in my services. But I didn't attack either of them." A line of condemning faces stares back at me, and I feel my spine quake. What do they know? What do they think I did? The fact I pulled healing power from someone shouldn't even occur to them, since it's technically impossible. Even the colonel himself wouldn't have understood what was happening. At most, he probably thought I forced a healing on him against his will and botched it somehow, causing both of us to weaken and eventually pass out. Assuming he wasn't aware enough to see me get a rifle butt to the back of the head…

"I treated Lieutenant Steele, even though he was grievously injured and I repeatedly told them he needed to be transferred to the hospital," I go on, trying to keep my voice calm. "The treatment was incredibly draining, and I felt myself start to fade. I didn't have enough power in reserve to both heal him and keep myself alive. At the last moment, I grabbed Colonel York, but only to steady myself…"

The brigadier's expression hardens, his eyes glinting with malice. "Spare us your lies, Omega. You were found astride Lieutenant Steele while you were poisoning Colonel York."

"Poisoning?" I stare up at him in horror. "What are you talking about?"

He grinds his teeth while I frantically try to remember what they'd seen when they stormed the barracks. Could they have seen me kissing York? My back was to the door, and he was slumped on his knees… "He was injured too," I murmur, my voice shaking. "I had to heal them both."

" Attack them both!" the brigadier booms. "Admit your crimes, dammit!"

But instead of making me flinch, his rage drains the numbness away. My spine straightens and I force my chin up. "Wait! You said this is a hearing, sir. Then I should have representation. A chance to form a defense."

The brigadier looks down at me with contempt. "This is not a civil court, Omega."

"But even military personnel get legal advice, don't they?" I know they do. I've been around soldiers long enough to understand their rights, or at least what their handbooks claimed them to be. I wrack my brain for a moment, then blurt, "An advocate! Everyone gets one, don't they?"

The brigadier waves a dismissive hand. "It doesn't apply to you. You're not a member of the armed forces."

"But I'm a member of the college." I look at the man from Omega Services, trying to ignore the pounding in my skull. "I'm a student of Sentinel Academy. Under the terms of admission, shouldn't I have a Student Advocate present?"

His lips thin, but there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "You're enrolled, Omega? I thought you were a senior healer."

"I am, but I'm in the advanced psychology class. Trauma management." I flush at how uncertain my voice sounds, but everyone in the room knows omegas don't attend standard college classes. Our training all occurs within the confines of the Omega Center, a separate facility on the edge of the campus. "The dean made an exception for me because the class is so specialized…"

I expect them to scoff at that, but a dark look passes between the brigadier and the man in the business suit at the end of the row. "That's a class for future physicians, isn't it, Van Ness?"

The business suit gives a slow nod, but I'm distracted by the man from Omega Services. He's checking something on the comm unit in front of him, and his lips thin as he slides it towards the brigadier. "She's enrolled until the end of the year. Takes her classes online, but she's registered."

I clench my hands together, relief making my muscles tremble. "I'm a student. I deserve an advocate."

But the brigadier's face flushes a darker red. "If you got what you deserve, we wouldn't be having this conversation at all," he growls, then flicks his hand. "One hour recess. Take her out of my sight."

Someone grabs my arm from behind, but it's not the administrator. This is a soldier, big and gruff, even in his pristine uniform. He turns on a heel, jerking me around, and drags me towards a door at the back of the room. A small cry slips out at his rough handling, but it freezes on my lips when I look up and catch the civilian staring at me.

I shudder. Mother Mercy, he looks like he wants to peel the skin from my bones…

But there's no point worrying about the violence brewing in his eyes. I need to survive the here and now.

The soldier marches me to an empty room, my head throbbing with every step. When he pushes me inside, I find it's four bare walls without even a bench to sit on. Folding my arms across my chest, I lock my knees and lean against the wall. My head is spinning, and I know if I lie down on the floor, I'll pass out. And I'm not certain the brigadier and his men will wake me before they shoot me for my crimes.

As the minutes tick by, I try to think my way out of this mess. Could I come clean about what I did to York? Would they be more forgiving if I explained it was an accidental draining instead of a deliberate poisoning? I mean, they were on their way back from the front, and Steele should still have traces of the toxin in his blood. That's proof the attack came from the outside. But there's no getting around the fact that I hurt the colonel as well. A mercy who harms instead of heals? It's so scandalous, it doesn't even rate a mention in their handbooks. No, the only way out is to insist I did nothing wrong and hope they can't prove otherwise. Although, the longer I wait in this empty room, the thicker the despair that settles over me like an oily coat. Because if there's a student advocate on campus, they're clearly too busy saving someone else's skin.

I'm standing by the bars when the soldier returns. He meets my eyes, but there's nothing to read there. He's a blank slate, a pair of hands to steer me back towards my fate. I don't fight him, but I feel my resolve crumble when I realize there are now only two men left in the courtroom. The brigadier glares down at me, a hard resolve in the set of his jaw. Worse still, the man in the business suit looks almost excited to see me.

"You've been given a reprieve, Omega," the brigadier says. It's a grudging verdict and I feel my knees go weak. "You will be signed over to Mr. Van Ness." He indicates the man at his side. "He heads up the Military Research Division."

Research? It's not a frightening word on its own, but when accompanied by the hungry glint in the man's eye, I feel like I'm about to vomit.

"I don't understand," I whisper. "To research what?"

"We'll discuss that," Mr. Van Ness tells me. "But the parameters of my research are fluid. As long as they benefit the United Armed Front, I have free rein to do as I please."

The smile he gives me is terrifying.

"Brigadier Ross, a moment, please."

My stomach nearly flips onto the floor at the familiar voice, and I watch in shock as Colonel York limps through a rear door and slowly climbs the dais. He looks terrible, his hair lank and his cheeks deeply hollowed. In a matter of hours, he's lost ten pounds, and I almost choke on the guilty bile in my throat. But he doesn't glance my way as he addresses the brigadier. "I would like to say something before you pass judgment, sir."

The brigadier is half out of his seat, staring at him with concern. " Shouldn't you still be in the hospital, York? You look wretched…"

"I'm fine, sir," York growls, even though we can all see him swaying on his feet. "I know you've probably decided on the omega's sentence, but I was hoping to share my thoughts with you."

The brigadier raises a bushy brow, but Van Ness has lost his tiger's smile, and his brow crinkles with fake concern. "You shouldn't be troubled with this part of the process, Colonel."

"I'm troubled by all of it," York says bluntly. "Which is why I want to make sure the punishment fits the crime." At the brigadier's nod, he turns my way. The face of Death, or one of his dark, ravaged angels, stares back at me. "She should be sent to the front. We have a need for healers out there."

Van Ness makes an impatient sound. "One healer can't possibly make a difference to the war effort. Her value is in research. In what we can learn about her kind…"

My kind? Does he mean as an omega? A healer? I shudder to think what other labels I might hold in his mind.

But York is glaring at him with his sunken eyes. "Sitting in a cushy office filling in forms and talking about her feelings?" He shakes his head, his face grim as he turns to his senior officer. "She should pay for her crimes on the battlefield. And if one drop of blood or one ounce of pain is saved, then her service – her life – will not be given in vain."

"Then so be it," the brigadier intones, giving me a final glare. "Kiss or be killed, Omega. Either way, this academy is done with you."