Chapter 3 The Refuge

The warehouse was nothing like the elegant Pack Historian archives I'd spent my life surrounded by. It was raw concrete, exposed pipes, and the smell of rain mixed with something metallic. But it was warm, and there were people, many people, and that alone made it feel less like a prison and more like a refuge.

The man Lysander had called Kael had brought me here after a conversation I'd only partially heard, something about "Logan's mistake" and "debts owed." The other rogues had been rough but not cruel. They'd given me water, clean clothes, a place to sit. Now I sat in what appeared to be a common area, wrapped in a gray sweater that hung off my small frame, trying to process what Lysander had revealed.

He wasn't in prison. He'd never been arrested. Everything at the ceremony had been theater, choreography designed to accomplish something I still didn't fully understand. When I'd asked him directly, Lysander had looked at me with an expression of such profound sadness that I'd wanted to comfort him. This was the man who'd ordered my mother's banishment.

"I can't explain everything yet," he'd said, his gray eyes, so similar to Logan's, searching my face. "But I need you to know that I tried to warn you. At the ceremony. The spell was already too strong."

"What spell?" I'd demanded.

But he was already being led away by Kael.

A woman appeared at the edge of my vision, older, with deeply lined brown skin and salt-and-pepper hair braided with white thread. She moved like someone accustomed to being in pain but refusing to let it slow her down.

"I'm Mother Sage," she said, settling onto the crate beside me with a grunt. "I'm the healer here. You're Isabel, the omega from Crescent Moon."

I nodded, not sure what else to do. Strangers had always made me nervous.

"You're wondering why you're still alive," Mother Sage said. It wasn't a question. "Omega instinct says you should have died the moment you were separated from your pack. Without the bond, omegas wither like flowers cut from water."

"Is that not true?" Hope and dread tangled in my chest.

"It's partially true," Mother Sage said. "The bond matters. But the dependency? That's engineered. Your instincts were carefully cultivated over generations. There's a difference between something being essential and something being made to seem essential."

I stared at her, trying to process this. Everything I'd been taught said otherwise. "My mother used to say things like that, right before she disappeared."

"Elara Summers," Mother Sage said softly. "Yes, I knew her. Brilliant woman. Dangerous woman, in the way that threatens people who think too deeply. She asked too many questions about why omegas were treated as weaker when the evidence suggested otherwise."

"What happened to her?"

"She was exiled, like you. But unlike you, she had nowhere to go. She was expected to die. For a long time, I assumed she had." Mother Sage paused, studying my face. "But I've learned not to assume anything about strong people, even when they disappear. Survival has a way of finding those determined enough."

I wanted to believe my mother was alive somewhere. But believing it meant accepting a truth that contradicted everything my life had been built on. It meant admitting that the pack had been systematically lying to me.

Over the next three days, I learned the structure of the warehouse refuge. There were about thirty people here, all exiled or escaped from various packs. Most were omegas, but there were also a few betas. The rogues who maintained the space, Kael's network, were a mixture of truly dangerous people and those who'd simply refused to accept traditional pack hierarchy.

Kael himself remained distant. I'd glimpse him in conversation with other rogues, sometimes arguing fiercely, sometimes laughing. Once, I'd caught him watching me from across the room, his amber eyes unreadable. When he realized I'd noticed, he'd looked away.

On the fourth day, Mother Sage found me in the small library area, a collection of salvaged books and a working computer.

"You're researching pack genealogy," she observed, looking over my shoulder at the screen.

"I'm trying to understand the patterns," I said. "My role as historian meant I had access to pack records that most people don't. There were gaps. Omegas listed as transferred to other packs, but the receiving packs had no record of them. It's like they disappeared."

Mother Sage was quiet for a long moment. "How many gaps?"

"At least eighty in the past fifty years. Probably more. The records get less detailed the further back you go."

"Eighty omegas," Mother Sage repeated, and there was something like grief in her voice. "What do you think happened to them?"

I couldn't say it out loud. The implications were too dark. Eighty people didn't just vanish. They had been removed. Deliberately. By someone with power.

"I think," Mother Sage said carefully, "that you're beginning to understand why you needed to leave. And why Lysander wanted to warn you."

"I don't understand anything," I said, frustration boiling over. "Everyone speaks in riddles and half-truths. Lysander says he tried to protect me. Logan says he was protecting the pack. Kael looks at me like I'm both a puzzle and a threat. I've lost everything, my pack bond is severed, and I'm researching genocidal patterns in pack history. I don't understand anything."

My voice had risen, and I could feel the first tendrils of panic attack creeping in. The absence of the pack bond made panic so much sharper. Without that collective consciousness to ground me, every anxiety became a crisis.

Mother Sage gripped my shoulder. "Breathe. Your instincts want to pull you toward obedience and submission, but those instincts are compromised. You're in a safe space. Let yourself feel angry."

"I don't know how to be angry," I whispered. "Omegas aren't supposed to be angry."

"No," Mother Sage agreed. "You're supposed to be small and grateful and agreeable. But anger is what keeps you alive when nothing else will."

She left me alone with my research and my growing understanding that I'd been raised in a cage my entire life, one so elegant I'd never realized it was there.

On the seventh night, I was moved to a smaller room, better quarters. Kael was waiting for me when I entered, leaning against the window frame with casual grace.

"You've been asking questions," he said without preamble. "About the missing omegas. About the gaps in the records."

"I'm a historian," I replied, my voice steadier than my hands. "Asking questions is what I do."

"And what have you concluded?"

"That Lysander Cross was removing omegas for some purpose. That my mother was one of them. That this isn't random, and it isn't recent."

Kael moved from the window toward me, and every nerve in my body screamed at me to show submission. I forced myself to stand straight, to meet his amber eyes directly.

"You're stronger than you believe," he said softly. "Everything you've been taught about omega fragility is a lie. Your real nature is far more dangerous."

"And what is my real nature?" I asked.

Before he could answer, the warehouse shook. Alarms began blaring. Through the small window, I could see fire, the building was burning.

Kael swore violently and grabbed my arm. "We're under attack. Pack hunters. They're trying to burn us out."

"Who would do that?" I started toward the door, but Kael pulled me back.

"Anyone who benefits from keeping omegas scattered and powerless," he said grimly. "But here's what you need to understand: I'm going to get you out of here, and I'm going to teach you how to fight. By the time this is over, you're going to wish Logan had just killed you cleanly instead of leaving you to discover what he's spent his entire life trying to hide."

The building groaned, metal screaming in protest. I smelled smoke and fear and the acrid burn of magically-accelerated flame.

"What is he hiding?" I demanded, even as Kael dragged me toward a back passage.

"The truth," Kael said, "is far worse than the lie. And...."

The ceiling collapsed.