Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

THANE

T he sleek transport glides through the streets of the Capital, its tinted windows giving me a filtered view of the lush cityscape outside. I should feel nostalgic, a sense of homecoming as I take in the manicured parks and soaring architecture that defined my childhood.

But instead, all I feel is a gnawing unease.

A sense of wrongness permeating every gilded facade.

I've been back to the Capital many times over the years, of course. Reporting for duty, receiving new orders, the occasional visit with my father. But this time, something feels... different. Off-kilter. Like the entire foundation this city was built upon has shifted beneath my feet .

Nikolai's words echo in my mind, that insidious hint of the Council's involvement in the very things they claim to abhor. Omega trafficking. Exploitation of the most vile and depraved sort.

I'm not naive. I know the Council is willing to do just about anything to maintain its grip on power, and we're far from heroes. But I've always believed that the Council, and the tightly controlled borders that surround Reinmich, are the thin line standing between what's left of civilization and the utter chaos beyond it. That all the sins we've committed were paving the way for better people to rebuild a purer world.

But this... this is a new low, even for them. To treat omegas as commodities to be bought and sold, bred like cattle for the Council's own twisted ends?

It's an abomination.

A perversion of everything Reinmich is supposed to stand for.

Barely suppressed rage simmers in my veins. Part of me wants to believe Nikolai was lying—that it was nothing more than a ploy to unsettle us, to shake our faith in the Council's leadership.

But another, darker part of me knows the truth. Knows that the rot has spread too far, too deep, to be anything but systemic .

My father's reaction to Ivy's abuse is proof enough of that.

The transport slows, pulling up to the towering gothic facade of the Central Command building with its tall spires and ivy-laden walls. I straighten in my seat, shoving down the conflicting thoughts within. Now is not the time for doubt or indecision. I need to keep my head clear, to play my part flawlessly if I'm to get to the bottom of this nightmare.

The door opens, and I step out onto the gleaming portico, taking a moment to gaze up at the imposing edifice before me. This place was once a source of pride, a shining beacon of order and justice in a world gone mad. Now it feels more like a mausoleum, a monument to the slow death of everything we're supposed to fight for.

What the fuck have I been fighting for?

I shake off the thoughts and stride inside, my boots ringing against the polished marble floors. The atrium is a vast, echoing space, all soaring columns and vaulted ceilings that speak to the Council's outsized sense of grandeur. Functionaries and bureaucrats scurry about like ants alongside proud soldiers, their faces pinched and harried as they attend to the endless minutiae of governance.

I make my way to the central bank of elevators, swiping my credentials to gain access to the upper levels. The car is empty, blessedly silent save for the faint hum of the motors as it rockets skyward. I close my eyes, drawing in a deep, steadying breath as I brace myself for the confrontation to come.

My father's office is on the top floor, the entire space a study in understated opulence. Priceless art adorns the walls. Antique furniture is arranged in precise, aesthetically-pleasing groupings. It's a far cry from the stark utility of the bunkers and field bases I'm accustomed to, this indulgent display of wealth and privilege.

Funny how I never really noticed it before.

Or at least, it never bothered me before.

The thought needles at me, a persistent voice whispering in the back of my mind. How much of this was paid for with blood money? With the suffering of innocents traded and bartered like livestock?

I shove the treacherous notion aside as the secretary looks up, her perfectly coiffed mask of professional detachment slipping ever-so-slightly at my appearance. "Ah, Commander Hargrove," she murmurs, rising from her sleek chrome-and-glass workstation. "Your father is in a meeting at the moment, but I'll let him know you've arrived. "

She moves toward the heavy oak door that separates the anteroom from my father's inner sanctum, but before she can announce me, the door flies open and a young lieutenant comes barreling out. His face is pale, glimmering with a thin sheen of sweat, and his eyes are wide with a sort of haunted terror.

What the hell was that about?

I've seen my father angry before, furious even. And he's no stranger to intimidating his underlings. But as I watch the officer flee the chambers like his life depends on it, I can tell my father is in one hell of a mood.

Before I have time to start dwelling on it, the door opens again, and my father's stentorian voice rings out. "Thane! Get in here."

I snap to attention, tamping down the contradictory impulses warring inside me—the chain of command, drilled into me from birth, and the growing sense of resentment. Of defiance against this man and all he represents.

Squaring my shoulders, I stride forward, pushing through the door and into the lion's den.

My father is seated behind his massive desk, his broad frame seeming to fill the space with his mere presence. Even sitting, he cuts an imposing figure, every inch the seasoned military commander who's led armies into battle and emerged victorious time and again.

His gaze snaps to me as I enter, those hard eyes raking over me in a silent assessment. Judging, always judging, as he's done since the day I was born. Seeking out any hint of weakness, any crack in the armor he's spent a lifetime forging around me.

"General," I say, keeping my tone carefully neutral. "I take it your meeting didn't go well?"

He snorts, a sound equal parts derision and disgust. "Hardly. Just more bureaucratic nonsense from the Council's lapdogs. Seems they have issues with how I've been handling certain matters," he growls, his lips curling around the words.

There's an undercurrent to his words, a subtle emphasis that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. He doesn't usually go into even that much detail about his work.

Does he suspect I know?

Has he figured out I'm aware of the Council's illicit dealings and his potential involvement?

I dismiss the thought as paranoia, focusing instead on maintaining an air of detached professionalism. "Well, I'm sure you'll have it sorted soon enough. You always do."

A thin smile curves his lips, more a baring of teeth than any true expression of mirth. "It's good to see you haven't lost your confidence in my abilities, son."

He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he regards me with a look I can't quite parse. "Speaking of abilities, it's just as well that you came. I've been meaning to congratulate you on the success of your mission. Seems it went off without a hitch."

I give a tight nod of acknowledgment. "It did. Valek played his part flawlessly, and Nikolai remains an active connection."

"Excellent." There's a predatory glint in his eye now, a spark of vicious satisfaction that sets my teeth on edge. "Those weapons will go a long way toward crippling the so-called 'resistance' once and for all. Our allies in the Outer Reaches will be most pleased."

Our allies.

The words hang in the air between us, laden with unspoken implications. Is he referring to the rogue factions and warlords the Council has been backing in their bid to solidify control over the outlying regions? Or does he mean the omega traffickers the Council is using to maintain control?

I force myself to meet his gaze, to keep my expression impassive and focused. "I'm sure they will be. We can't allow these insurgents to gain any more of a foothold than they already have. Especially if they're anything like Nikolai."

"I see he made quite the impression," he says with a wry smirk.

"An indelible one," I say in a tone of practiced disgust. Nikolai isn't anything special to me, and truth be told, I find him half as repugnant as the man sitting across from me at the moment. But I need to keep up the act. Give my father no reason to expect my commitment to the mission has wavered. "Men like him are the reason the world out there is the cesspit it is."

"Well said." He nods, a glimmer of approval in those cold eyes. "You're learning, Thane. Finally starting to see the bigger picture instead of getting bogged down in the details."

I bristle at the subtle condescension, the implication that I've somehow been short-sighted or naive up until this point when he hasn't dirtied his hands in decades. But I bite back the instinctive urge to lash out, to defend my honor and my capabilities. That's what he wants, after all—to goad me into an emotional reaction he can exploit, to find whatever cracks exist in my armor and pry them wide open.

Instead, I simply incline my head in a show of deference. "I guess you could say my time in the Outer Reaches has made me appreciate things here."

My father tilts his head curiously. "How so?"

I shrug, aiming for a nonchalant air. "Just a better understanding of the bigger threats we face. The true depths of the resistance's depravity and the lengths dogs like Nikolai are willing to go."

It's a gambit. A carefully crafted feint to gauge his reaction. If he is aware of the Council's role in the omega trafficking—if he's complicit in that foulness and he has even a hint of decency left—he'll squirm.

Sure enough, he shifts in his seat. "Ah, yes. The insurgents are a wretched sort. Little more than animals, really, lashing out at the civilized world like the rabid beasts they are."

There it is.

The denial, the deflection, couched in the sort of jingoistic rhetoric the Council has been spoon-feeding the masses for decades. I fight back a surge of disgust at the ease with which he spins his lies.

And I know when my father is lying.

I know him better than anyone.

I've just been too blind to see the truth. Until now. Until I had reason to look behind the curtain. To question everything .

The rage boils up inside me, scalding and caustic. I want to call him out, to hurl his sins back in his face and watch that imperious mask crumble to ashes.

But I can't. Not yet.

Not until I have undeniable proof. And when that day comes, I will bring the whole rotten edifice crashing down on him.

So I swallow back the vitriol burning in my throat and nod, playing along with his twisted narrative. "Of course. The resistance can't be allowed to spread their poison any further. We'll crush them, once and for all. And with this new connection, we actually have the means to do it."

His expression eases, fading back into the familiar arrogance and self-assurance. "Indeed we will, my son. With you leading the charge, I have no doubt."

He rises from his chair, that broad-shouldered bulk filling the room as he rounds the desk. For an instant, I ready myself to fight. But I shove it down, straightening my spine as he claps a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Speaking of leading the charge," he says slowly, "there's something else I wanted to discuss with you. "

My muscles tense beneath his grip, bracing myself for whatever new horror is about to be unveiled. "Oh?"

"This omega you've… acquired." His lips twist as if the very word leaves a sour taste in his mouth. "You took her with you on the mission, yes?"

I tense. But I don't show it. Can't let even a hint of weakness slip through the cracks. So I force myself to relax, to meet his gaze with studied nonchalance. "I can't say I understand why the Council wanted it, but yes. We did."

"And she was compliant?" he presses.

I can tell he's carefully analyzing my every word, to the point where I'm starting to wonder if the idea for her to come along with us actually came from him and he was just using the Council's "desires" as a shield.

With that possibility, I regret showing any resistance. Any sign to make him think Ivy is something he can use against me. He'll take any sliver of vulnerability I show and use it as a weapon against me. So I bury the truth, pack it down deep beneath layers of feigned indifference.

"Yes," I answer. "There were some bumps at first, but she's been compliant since Plague collared her."

"I see." His eyes narrow, that assessing gaze sweeping over me with renewed intensity. "And are you managing her properly? I'd hate to see all the time and resources the Center invested in her go to waste."

It's a subtle barb, a jab at my capabilities couched in a veneer of concern for the Council's "assets." I bristle despite my best efforts, my jaw clenching against the urge to lash out.

"Of course," I grit out, the words tasting like acid.

He arches a brow sardonically, clearly skeptical. "Do you? From what I've heard, this one was... problematic , even by the Center's standards. If she's proving too much of a handful, there are other avenues we could explore. Facilities better equipped to handle her unique needs."

A spike of visceral panic lances through me at the unspoken implication. Breeding facilities. They're reserved for omegas deemed too troublesome or uncooperative. The idea of sending omegas there rather than placing them with packs always disgusted me, and that was before I knew the full truth about the Refinement Center being a shithole. I can only wonder what hell on earth the breeding facilities are if that's what the omegas at the Refinement Center are threatened with.

The thought of Ivy suffering such a fate... it's enough to make me want to put my fist through the nearest wall. But I can't, not here. Not in front of this "alpha" who would be more than happy to consign her to that hell without a second thought.

So I force myself to breathe, to tamp down the raging inferno of my emotions until I can respond with a level of calmness I don't feel.

"That won't be necessary," I say, each word precise and measured. "She was unruly at first, but now, she's tame as a kitten. I don't need people thinking the Ghosts can't bring a little omega to heel."

A rabid kitten with knives for claws, but he doesn't need to know that. He certainly doesn't need to know I like it. Despite my best attempts, I know he won't buy my complete indifference, so the safest bet is to let him think it's a matter of ego.

The lie tastes like ash. Poison on my tongue. But it's speaking to his alpha ego, the only language he understands. And it's safer than letting him think I care about her.

He watches me for a moment before he gives a nod of concession. "Fair enough. "I'll let the Council know the assignment has been a success thus far."

The unspoken threat hangs in the air, stark and undeniable. Fail me in this, and there will be consequences.

Before I can formulate a response, a soft rap sounds at the door. My father's secretary pokes her head in, her expression pinched with barely-concealed anxiety.

"Sir, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt," she says, her gaze darting between the two of us. "But General Corvald is here, and he's... well, he's quite insistent on speaking with you."

A muscle ticks in my father's jaw, the first outward sign of the irritation simmering just beneath the surface. "Of course he is," he mutters, the words little more than an aggrieved growl. He turns back to me, his expression smoothing out into an approximation of placid calm. "It seems duty calls, Thane. Why don't you wait here while I deal with this... interruption? We can continue our discussion over lunch."

I nod, forcing my features into a mask of bland acquiescence. "Of course. I'll be here."

He turns on his heel and strides from the room, the door closing behind him with a dull thud of finality.

I'm left standing there in the wake of his departure, the weight of our conversation hanging heavy in the air. Slowly, I release a deep breath, my shoulders sagging as the tension drains from my frame in a rush.

My gaze darts around the office as soon as we're alone, taking in the trappings of power and privilege that surround me. The gleaming mahogany desk, the plush leather chairs, the shelves lined with priceless tomes and artifacts.

Almost without conscious thought, I find myself moving toward his desk, my fingers trailing over the smooth wood as I round its edge. The urge to dig, to uncover the truth that's been hidden from me for so long, is overwhelming. I know it's a risk, that if my father catches me snooping through his private files, there will be hell to pay—at the very least.

Even the General's son isn't above the consequences of that kind of betrayal.

But I can't stop myself. I have to know. I have to get proof.

I slide open the top drawer, my breath catching in my throat as I take in the neatly organized folders within. Most of them are labeled with innocuous titles. Budget reports, personnel files, mission briefs. But there, tucked away in the very back, is a slim folder marked with a single word that immediately seems off, given where I am .

Shipments.

I pluck it from the drawer, my heart hammering against my ribs as I flip it open. The first page is a memo, dated just a few weeks ago. It's addressed to my father, from someone named Dr. Eliza Duvan.

General Hargrove,

I am pleased to report that the arrangement we discussed the last time we met is proceeding apace. The latest batch of omegas from the Refinement Center have proven most adequately conditioned.

Our allies in the outer territories have expressed a keen interest in acquiring these assets for their own purposes, and I believe we can leverage this to secure additional funding and resources. I have taken the liberty of drawing up a preliminary contract, which I have enclosed for your review.

I look forward to discussing this further at our next meeting.

Regards,

Dr. Duvan

I stare at the words, a sick, sinking feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. Conditioning. Assets. They're talking about omegas like they're... things . Commodities to be bought and sold, used and discarded at will.

And the Refinement Center is supplying them. Molding innocent omegas into pliant little dolls for the amusement of the Council's so-called allies.

My father isn't just looking the other way or involved on the sidelines.

He's the one calling the fucking shots.

Bile rises in my throat, hot and acrid. I want to scream, to rage, but I can't let my father know I've seen this. Can't give him any reason to suspect I'm onto his vile little scheme.

So I take a deep, shuddering breath, and with hands that shake only slightly in rage, I snap a few pictures of the file with the analog microcam I keep stored in my tactical belt—the only way I can save evidence without it getting picked up by the Capital network—before slipping it back in the drawer where I found it.

I have to get out of here. Have to put some distance between myself and this abomination masquerading as a man. The man who raised me, who taught me everything I know about honor and duty and service.

The man who's been lying to me my entire life.

Fuck . How am I going to tell Wraith?

Their relationship is strained at best, but this is still the man who saved him all those years ago. Maybe he never loved my brother—and I doubt he ever loved me, either—but he's still our father.

I stride from the office, my boots ringing against the polished marble floor. The secretary looks up as I pass, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Commander Hargrove? Is everything alright?"

I force a tight smile, the muscles of my face feeling stiff and unnatural. "Fine. Just remembered something I need to take care of. Tell my father I'll have to reschedule lunch."

I don't wait for her response, don't trust myself not to betray the tempest of emotions churning inside me. I just keep walking, my pace quickening with every step until I'm all but running, desperate to put as much distance between myself and this place as possible.

Ivy.

The thought of her, of what she's endured at the hands of the Center, at the hands of men like my father... it's like a knife to the gut. A searing, twisting agony that threatens to bring me to my knees.

I didn't even know her then, but I feel like I failed her. Failed to protect her, to keep her safe from the monsters that lurk in the shadows of this twisted world we live in.

But no more. I won't let them hurt her again. Won't let them use her, break her, turn her into just another pawn in their sick little games. I'll keep her safe, no matter the cost.

And I'll save every omega like her, too. Even if it means burning everything I've ever known to the ground.

Even if it means going up against my own father.