Page 49 of Knot Happening Again

I weave through the crowd, pushing past the throng of admirers and hangers-on. The air grows thicker as I approach the back of the bar, heavy with the scent of alcohol and desperation.

At the end of the hall, a door leads out into an alley. I push it open, grateful for the rush of cool night air that greets me. The sounds of the city—car horns, distant sirens, the low hum of conversation from the street—wash over me, a stark contrast to the artificial atmosphere of the bar.

I lean against the rough brick wall, taking a deep breath before answering the call.

"Johnson," I say, my voice gruff. "Tell me you've got something."

"Mr. Whitaker," the investigator's voice crackles through the speaker. There's a hint of excitement in his tone that sets my nerves on edge. "I have an update. Is this a good time?"

I glance back at the door, muffled music and laughter spilling out into the night. A part of me wants to say no, because I'm sure it's the same thing as ever. A whole lot of nothing. Just a tiny, insignificant detail meant to string me along.

Like all the others.

"It's Carver," I remind him in a flat tone.

"Right," he replies dryly. "I apologize. It's unusual for an alpha to take another alpha's last name."

I'm half tempted to tell him to stop projecting his own bullshit on our brotherhood, but I keep my mouth shut. I have other shit on my mind, and I'm used to other alphas reading into my bond with Rhys.

"Yeah, it's fine," I say, brushing it off. "What have you got?"

There's a pause, and I can almost see Johnson shuffling papers on his desk. The silence stretches, each second feeling like an eternity.

"It was difficult to find any records of Ms. Thompson," he begins, his voice careful, measured. "I believe that was intentional."

My grip tightens on the phone, knuckles turning white. "How so?"

"It wasn't Ms. Thompson who covered her tracks," Johnson explains, and I can hear the frown in his voice. "It was her family. They seem to have scrubbed all traces of her existence from their lives."

The news hits me like a freight train. But looking back, I can't really say I'm shocked. The Thompsons always were more concerned with appearances than their own daughter's well-being. I remember the lavish parties, the carefully curated socialmedia presence, the constant pressure to be perfect. No room for mistakes in that world.

Just like my own family.

But who am I to talk?

"But," Johnson continues, pulling me from my memories, "once I started focusing on what they didn't want me to find, it became a little easier. I have connections in the Omega Registry Office."

My throat tightens, a knot of dread forming in my stomach. The Registry keeps track of unmated omegas, monitoring their status and well-being. It's meant to protect them, but in reality, it's just another way to control them, to keep them in line. Rhys has been fighting its existence for years.

"Is she mated?" I force the words out, hating the jealousy that flares in my gut. What right do I have to be jealous, of all things, after what I did to her?

"No," Johnson says, and I let out a breath. The relief is short-lived, though, as he continues. "But that actually helped narrow things down. There are only a few options left to unmated omegas in their mid-twenties with no family connections to fall back on."

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach, cold and heavy. I've seen enough of the world, been in enough seedy bars and backroom deals, to know what those "options" usually entail.

"What are you trying to say, Johnson?" My voice is low, dangerous. Part of me doesn't want to hear the answer, but I need to know.

I owe her that much.

He clears his throat, sounding uncomfortable for the first time since I hired him. "I was able to track her down. She's living in the same city as you and your pack, Mr. Carver. Has been for a number of years."

I can't fucking breathe.

She's beenhere, all this time?

In the same city?

I lean heavily against the wall, my mind reeling. How many times have I walked past her on the street, never knowing? How many times has she seen my name in the headlines?

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