Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

THANE

T he latest fucking revelation takes up every inch of space in my mind as the car glides through the streets, the driver navigating the twists and turns with practiced ease. I barely notice the passing scenery that normally catches my eye when I visit the Capital. Nothing else matters right now.

All I can think about is that damn letter.

Omegas sold like cattle. And my father—my own flesh and blood—is not only complicit in these unforgivable crimes, he's at the heart of it all.

Bile rises in my throat, but I dig my fingertips into my knees, forcing myself to stay calm despite how hard my heart is pounding in my chest .

It's not anxiety.

It's pure, unadulterated rage.

But I can't afford to fall apart now. Not when there's still so much I need to know. So much I need to do .

The Refinement Center rises from the dense forest like a twisted parody of a grand estate. Its imposing stone facade, all sharp angles and Gothic spires, stands in stark contrast to the lush greenery surrounding it. At first glance, one might mistake it for an exclusive boarding school or perhaps a retreat for the wealthy elite. But a closer look reveals its true nature.

High walls of weathered granite encircle the grounds, topped with coils of razor wire that glint menacingly in the sunlight. Watchtowers punctuate the perimeter at regular intervals, their windows dark and inscrutable. Armed guards patrol the walls with military precision, their weapons held at the ready.

The manicured lawns and meticulously pruned hedges seem almost obscene against the backdrop of such obvious security measures. It's as if someone tried to dress up a maximum-security prison in the trappings of old money and failed spectacularly .

Despite its location deep in what appears to be wilderness, I know better. This is no remote outpost. We're still firmly within the protective bubble of the Capital's influence. These woods, seemingly wild and untamed, are as carefully controlled as everything else in this godforsaken place. Patrols sweep through regularly, their routes known by heart to many of the guards—men and women I likely had a hand in training myself.

As we draw closer, I can make out more details. The windows are barred, the glass reinforced and reflective. No prying eyes allowed, either in or out. The main entrance is a fortress unto itself, with multiple checkpoints and enough firepower to repel a small army.

It's a far cry from the polished propaganda images the Council loves to distribute. In those carefully staged photos, the Refinement Center is portrayed as a beacon of hope and progress. A place where troubled omegas are gently guided toward their "true purpose."

The reality before me tells a different story, one my thick head has finally fucking grasped. This isn't a school or a rehabilitation center. It's a prison, plain and simple. A place designed to break spirits and reshape minds to fit the Council's twisted vision of society.

And Ivy spent half her life in this place.

Locked away, stripped of her humanity, her very identity.

I feel like I'm going to fucking puke. Or break some necks.

I'm still practicing box breathing—a personal deescalation technique Plague has drilled into all of us countless times—to sedate the enraged beast within as the car pulls up to the front gate. I flash my credentials to the young, fit beta guard on duty. He snaps to attention, his eyes widening as he takes in the insignia on my uniform.

"C-Commander Hargrove," he stammers, fumbling with the controls to open the gate. "We weren't expecting... I mean, there was no notification of your visit, sir."

"That's because it wasn't planned," I say, my voice cold and clipped. "I'm here on personal business and wanted to drop by. Do I need to call my father and have him explain the chain of command to you?"

The guard pales, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. Please, go right ahead. "

The gate swings open and the car glides through, coming to a stop in front of the main entrance. I step out, straightening my jacket as I take in the imposing facade.

You can do this, I tell myself, squaring my shoulders, an internal promise that I'm not going to snap and tear this place apart brick by brick now that I fully understand what my omega suffered here. I'll have self-control.

For Ivy.

I stride inside, my boots ringing against the polished marble floor. The receptionist looks up as I approach, her eyes widening in recognition.

"Commander Hargrove," she says, practically yelping, rising to her feet. "How may I assist you today?"

"I need to speak with Headmistress Emilia," I say, keeping my voice level and authoritative. "Immediately."

The receptionist blinks, a flicker of confusion passing over her pinched features. "I... I'm afraid the Headmistress is quite busy at the moment, sir. Perhaps if you could make an appointment..."

"I don't have time for appointments," I snap, leaning forward and planting my hands on the desk. "This is a matter of utmost urgency. Now, are you going to summon her, or do I need to start making calls?"

A couple of Nightingales in stark white frocks with matching bonnets look up sharply before scurrying off behind her.

The receptionist blanches. The threat is clear. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

She scurries off, disappearing through a set of double doors. I pace the lobby, my agitation growing with each passing second. Every instinct screams at me to tear this place apart, to rip back the veneer of civility and expose the rot beneath.

But I can't. Not yet. I need to play this smart, to gather as much information as I can before I make my move.

The doors open and Emilia strides out, a polite smile plastered across her face. Her features are even more taut and shiny than usual, as if her bun is on too tight. But the annoyance simmering beneath the surface is visible in the extra tightness around her eyes and mouth.

"Commander Hargrove," she says, her voice dripping with false warmth. "What an unexpected pleasure. I apologize for the delay, but I'm afraid you caught me quite by surprise."

"I'm sure," I say, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice. "But I'm afraid this couldn't wait. I have some concerns about the omega you sent to my pack."

Emilia's smile falters, a flicker of unease passing over her features. "Concerns? I don't understand. Ivy was one of our most... challenging cases, but I assure you, we did everything in our power to prepare her for life with an alpha pack."

Challenging. The word makes my blood boil, my fingers itching to wrap around her throat and squeeze . But I force myself to take a deep breath, to keep my expression carefully neutral.

"She's not settling in as well as we'd hoped," I say, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. But the less satisfied these people think I am, the less risk there is of them reporting back to the Council that they can use her against me. That they can threaten to take her away as a means of keeping me on a tight leash. "She's withdrawn. I was hoping you could give me some insight into her background, help me understand her better."

Emilia's brow furrows, a calculating gleam entering her eye. "I see. Well, to be perfectly honest, she should have been sent to a breeding facility years ago. She's clearly not cut out for life as a pack omega. "

A breeding facility. The thought is almost enough to unravel what's left of my control. Let them try. I'll burn this fucking country to the dirt.

They'll wish they hadn't survived the nukes.

But I can't let it show. Can't let her see the fury and revulsion churning inside me. So I force a smile, a brittle, empty thing that feels like it might crack my face in two.

"I don't think that will be necessary," I say, keeping my voice carefully even. "We're not giving up on her just yet. In fact, I was hoping you could give me a tour of the facility. I'm afraid my knowledge of omega conditioning is somewhat… lacking."

Emilia blinks, clearly taken aback by the request. But then she smiles, a sharp, predatory grin that makes it clear appealing to her inflated ego is the right move.

"Of course, Commander. I would be more than happy to show you around. Please, follow me."

She turns and strides off, her heels clicking against the marble floor. I fall into step beside her, my hands clasped behind my back to hide the way they tremble with barely suppressed rage. Hopefully none of the Nightingales notice I'm gripping my own wrist to the point of making the bones creak .

Better than wrapping my hands around that pencil neck.

Emilia leads me through the facility, pointing out the various amenities and programs designed to "rehabilitate" the omegas in their care. There are classrooms and dormitories, exercise yards and recreation areas. Even a swimming pool. But beneath the veneer of normalcy, I can sense the underlying wrongness, the subtle cues that betray the true nature of this place.

The omegas we pass are eerily quiet, their movements stiff and robotic. They keep their eyes downcast, their hands clasped demurely in front of them. The few in the pool are gathered at the edges instead of swimming, resting their arms on the side and staring off into space.

And this place is crawling with guards. Armed and watchful, their gazes tracking our every move. They're not even bothering to hide it.

"As you can see, Commander, we take the care and well-being of our charges very seriously," Emilia says in a forced sincere tone that wouldn't be remotely convincing even if I didn't know the truth now. "Every aspect of their lives is carefully monitored and controlled, from their diet and exercise to their social interactions and educational programming."

Controlled. The word makes me sick. I think of Ivy, of the fierce, defiant spirit that still shines through despite everything she's endured. The thought of that light being snuffed out, of her being reduced to just another empty shell...

I'm going to kill this bitch today, aren't I?

But I force myself to nod, to make the appropriate indicators of interest and approval as Emilia drones on. I can't let her suspect my true motives, can't give her any reason to doubt my loyalty to the Council and their twisted agenda.

Big picture, Thane. Big fucking picture.

"It's very impressive," I say through my teeth, wishing I could be as good an actor as Valek. Faking shit has never been one of my strengths. "But Ivy didn't spend most of her time up here, did she? I'd like to see the lower level."

Emilia immediately stiffens at the suggestion. Maybe even she has some shame about how Ivy was treated here under her watch, but I doubt it.

"Of course," she says uncomfortably. "Follow me."

We make our way down to the lower levels, the air growing colder and more stagnant with each step. Emilia's demeanor shifts, her false cheer giving way to a tense, wary silence. I can sense her unease, the way her shoulders tighten and her steps falter as we approach a heavy, reinforced door.

"This is our high-security wing, as you already know," she says, her voice strained. "For our most challenging cases. I know you only saw it briefly when you were here last."

And when you were expecting me , I think.

The heavy door swings open with a groan, revealing a long, dimly lit corridor. The air is thick with the stench of fear and despair, a cloying, sickly-sweet odor that makes my stomach churn. This time, Ivy's sweet scent isn't here to cut through the decay.

I step inside, my boots echoing against the bare concrete floor. The cells on either side are little more than cages, their bars rusted and pitted with age. Most of them are empty, but through the gloom, I can make out the huddled forms of the omegas within two of them, their eyes dull and lifeless, bodies wasted and frail.

Ivy was the only one the last time.

"There are others in solitary?" I ask, trying to sound disinterested.

"Yes. We received a new shipment from a raid on a rebel camp," she answers without looking back. "They've been quite recalcitrant, as you might imagine."

Shipment . Like they're things, not people.

It's all laid so fucking bare. How could I be too blind to see it before?

I can't help but wonder if this "shipment" is destined for the same fate as the omegas in the letter I found in my father's desk. Who knows where they actually came from.

Emilia leads me down the corridor, her steps quick and clipped, her shoulders rigid with tension. She doesn't look at the cells, doesn't acknowledge the suffering that surrounds us. It's as if she's trying to pretend it doesn't exist, to distance herself from the horror of what she's done.

Maybe she can look away, but I can't.

Can't ignore the evidence of the brutality and cruelty that has been inflicted on these poor, broken souls. Every whimper, every rattle of chains is like a knife to my heart, a searing reminder of my own complicity in this nightmare.

Suddenly, a piercing scream rends the air, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. I whirl around, my hand flying to the gun at my hip instinctively.

"What the hell was that?" I demand, my voice rough with rage.

Emilia flinches, her face paling. "It's... it's nothing, Commander. Just a routine procedure."

But I'm already moving, striding down the corridor toward the source of the scream. I round a corner and stop dead in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat with a growl at the sight before me.

An omega, naked and shivering, is chained to the wall, her arms stretched above her head, her feet barely touching the ground. A young beta guard with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face stands before her, a high-pressure hose in his hands, the water blasting her red, raw skin with brutal force.

The omega's screams echo off the walls, her body convulsing with each punishing blast. Her eyes are wide and wild with terror as they lock on me for a split second before the guard sprays her right in the face.

"What the fuck is this?" I snarl, my voice shaking with barely contained white-hot fury consuming me. I'm so fucking close to snapping, flooded with mental images of grabbing this beta's head like a bowling ball and crushing it like a pumpkin.

Before I can tear the door off its hinges, Emilia bangs on the window and the guard freezes, looking up in confusion. When she gestures for him to turn off the hose, he does so reluctantly.

Emilia steps forward, her hands raised in a placating gesture. "Commander, please. This is a standard procedure, a form of therapy designed to help the omegas adjust to their new lives."

"Therapy?" I spit, my lip curling in disgust. "You call this therapy ? Looks more like torture to me."

Did they do this to Ivy? The image of her standing in that omega's place, her skin raw and her delicate form shuddering, has a familiar feeling pricking its way out of my skin and my vision blackening around the edges. It's a sensation I know well, even if I haven't felt it since I tore out my commanding officer's spine when I discovered exactly how he'd been abusing his authority over the new recruits.

Emilia draws herself up, her eyes flashing with indignation. "I assure you, Commander, everything we do here is for the omegas' own good. This... treatment ... is based on the latest scientific research, endorsed by the Council itself."

I give a bitter laugh that sounds more like a growl. "Scientific research, my ass. Fucking sadists."

But even as the words leave my lips, I know I can't act on them. Not yet. If I lose control now, if I let my rage and revulsion get the better of me, I'll blow what little of my cover is left. I'll lose any chance I have of getting to the bottom of this, of finding a way to avenge Ivy and save the others like her.

I can help them. I can make sure these monsters never touch Ivy or any omega ever again, but not if I snap right here and pulverize these fuckers.

Not again.

So I force myself to take a deep breath, to unclench my fists and relax my stance. "Fine," I finally say, more in response to my inner voice of reason than her. "But I want a full report on this 'procedure' before you do it again. And I want to see the rest of the facility. Now ."

Emilia nods, her relief palpable. "Of course, Commander. Right this way."

She turns and strides off down the corridor, but my attention is caught by another sight. A slimy beta guard, leading yet another omega by a chain. Her head is bowed, her steps shuffling and unsteady.

I watch as the guard and omega disappear around the corner, a knot of unease tightening in my gut. There's something about the guard's body language, the cruel twist of his lips, that sets off alarm bells in my head. I've seen that look before on the faces of too many men who take pleasure in causing pain.

"Who was that?" I ask, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

Emilia glances over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. "Ah, that's Jace. One of our most promising guards. He's risen through the ranks quite quickly, thanks to his dedication to the cause."

Something about the way she says it, the slight hesitation in her voice, makes my skin crawl.

"Is that so?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "And who exactly is he guarding?"

Emilia waves a dismissive hand. "Just one of our other more challenging cases. But I assure you, Commander, Jace has the situation well in hand. The omegas are fortunate to have him."

Fortunate. The word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I can only imagine the kind of "fortune" Jace brings to the omegas in his care.

Then it hits me. Was he one of Ivy's guards?

"I see," I say, keeping my expression carefully neutral. "And what exactly makes him so qualified for this position?"

Emilia gives me her most grotesque smile yet. "Well, for one thing, he's the son of a very prominent Council member. And he has a unique perspective on omega rehabilitation."

Another prettied-up way of saying he gets off on hurting innocent people.

"Interesting," I say, forcing a smile. "Perhaps you could introduce us later. I'd be curious to hear more about his methods. Pick his brain, if you will."

Or splatter it all over the walls.

Emilia nods, her eyes gleaming with something that might be pride. "Of course, Commander. I'm sure Jace would be honored to meet you."

Emilia leads me down another dark corridor, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The stench of fear and despair is even stronger here. Whimpers and sobs echo from the cells on either side.

We round a corner, and there he is.

The omega from a second ago is gone, and I can only assume he dumped her in one of those cells. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with close-cropped hair and an infuriating smugness in the set of his lips. It's the mark of a man who was born into a position of authority he didn't earn and has spent every day since lording it over those weaker than him. I've seen it a thousand times over.

Then I see it .

He's missing a finger.

Yeah, this is the fucker, alright.

I want nothing more than to wrap my hands around his throat, to squeeze the life from his body and watch the terror in his eyes as the light fades. As he realizes he's finally at the mercy of someone stronger than he is. Someone with as little mercy to show as he's shown his victims.

When I rip his spine out, I'll shove it up his ass.

But not yet.

"Commander Hargrove," Emilia says, her voice dripping with false warmth. "Allow me to introduce you to Jace, one of our most promising guards."

Jace steps forward, his eyes widening with something like awe as his entire demeanor shifts. He goes from power tripping douchebag to sycophant in an instant. "Commander," he says, his voice rough and grating. "It's… an honor to meet you, sir."

He holds out his hand and I take it, my grip tight enough that he winces. The jagged scar tissue on the stump of what was once his finger rubs against my palm. It gives me a twinge of satisfaction to know how badly that must have hurt.

And to know they weren't successful in reattaching it.

"The honor is mine," I say through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. "Emilia tells me you're quite the rising star around here."

Jace preens, his chest puffing out with pride. "I do my best, sir. These omegas, they need a firm hand. Someone to show them their place."

I think of the frail omega who was cowering next to him, her head bowed, dark hair fallen over her pale face, slender shoulders hunched. She was a far cry from Ivy with her fierce spirit and defiant eyes. Already broken.

"I see," I say, keeping my voice carefully neutral. "And what exactly are your methods, if you don't mind me asking?"

I try to sound curious. Interested. Not like I'm imagining sawing off his remaining fingers one by one with a rusty butter knife and then stuffing them down his throat.

Jace grins and I find myself wondering if I could knock out every one of his teeth in one punch, like a strike at the bowling alley. "Oh, you know. The usual. Isolation, sensory deprivation, a little physical correction here and there. It's all about breaking them down, making them dependent on us. You really have to have them eating out of your hand before they're fit to submit properly to an alpha."

And I know this sick fuck means that literally .

He says it so casually, as if he's discussing the weather or the latest reconstruction effort in the city. As if he's not talking about systematically destroying another human being's will to live.

All of a sudden, I understand why Ivy was so resistant to eating when she first came to us. The thought makes my stomach churn with disgust. The idea of this weak, cowardly little beta bitch forcing my omega to eat from his grimy hands.

I wish she'd taken more than a finger.

But I'll make up for it when I feed him his own teeth.

I feel bile rising in my throat, but I force it back down, force myself to nod and smile and play along. Holy fuck, this is hard. Wish I'd brought Valek with me. Although he's so unhinged, I'm not sure he'd be able to stay calm.

"Fascinating," I say, my voice tight. "I'd love to hear more about your techniques sometime, especially now that I have an omega of my own to bring to heel. Maybe we could discuss it in more detail , off the record."

Jace's eyes light up, a greedy, hungry gleam that makes my skin crawl. "Of course, sir. I'd be honored to share my insights with you."

"Excellent," I say, already plotting the many ways I'll make him suffer for what he's done. "I look forward to it next time I'm in the Capital."

I turn to Emilia, my smile strained and brittle. "I'm afraid I must be going, Headmistress. Duty calls."

She nods, her own smile just as false. "Of course, Commander. Thank you for taking the time to visit us today. I hope you found it enlightening."

I take her hand and give it a shake, but just as she's about to pull away, my grip tightens. Just until I see the hint of pain in her expression as I think about all the different ways I'm going to have this hag punished, too. None of them come close to what she deserves, though.

The male betas, on the other hand…

"I certainly did," I say with a barely restrained smile. "Thank you for being so open and on such short notice. I got everything I came for."

If only the bitch knew.

As I stride out of the facility, it takes everything in my willpower not to march back in and rip those two apart limb by limb.

Soon, I tell myself.

But first, I need evidence. Enough of it to hang my father for his crimes. Enough of it to implicate the Council members who are involved, too. They're all going to hang. All going to rot on ropes for everyone in the Capital to see. Otherwise, they'll just use him as a scapegoat and the rest will get off scot-free.

It will take time.

Resources.

Strategy.

But once all the dominoes are in place, they're all fucked.