Page 159 of Run Little Omega

"Funny," I reply, holding up the token. "I found something interesting first."

She freezes, eyes fixed on the pulsing crystal in my hand. Her perfect composure—the result of years of specialized training to please court alphas—cracks at the edges. A muscle twitches in her jaw. Her fingers flex and curl at her sides.

"That's not mine," she says finally.

"I know. It was in Nessa's room. Hidden under a concealment spell." I step closer, watching her reaction like studying metal in a forge—looking for signs of weakness, for the moment before something yields. "What I don't know is why a supposedly escaped omega would have a fully functional communication token linked to The Collector."

Flora's careful composure fractures slightly at the name, a flicker of raw terror crossing her face before she masters herself again. Her scent spikes with momentary fear—the instinctive response of someone who understands exactly what that name means—before settling back into careful neutrality.

"She claimed he'd never found her," she says quietly. "That she'd been claimed by a minor Summer alpha, not... him."

"She lied." The words fall between us like hammer blows.

I watch fury and betrayal replace fear in Flora's expression. The violet of her eyes darkens as her pupils expand, cillae that were barely visible along her collarbones flaring to life in response to strong emotion.

She glances over her shoulder as if checking that we're alone, then closes the door behind her. "I suspected something wasn't right," she admits, her body language shifting from court-trained grace to something more defensive. "The nightmares. The way she'd go silent whenever certain courts were mentioned. How she knew details about palace architecture that shouldn't be common knowledge."

"Elaborate." The word comes out like hammer striking anvil, frost coating my fingers where they clutch the token.

"He collects things from his claimed omegas," Flora explains, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Hair, small bones, personal tokens. Arranges them in this disturbing shrine at Summer Court."

She wraps her arms around herself, a protective gesture that breaks through her careful training. "I lived there for a time, before the breeding program transferred me to the central facility. His collection chamber was off-limits, but rumors spread. Omegas who'd seen inside described display cases with hundreds of items—finger bones in crystal jars, braids of hair arranged in patterns, baby teeth set in gold."

A shudder passes through her, genuine and uncontrolled. "Omegas who especially please him contribute larger... specimens. The ones who try to escape contribute the most."

My mind conjures unwanted images based on her description—display cases of carefully preserved omega parts, arranged with aesthetic precision. The memory surfaces from whispered stories during the Hunt—The Collector moving through the forest with methodical patience, tracking omegas not through strength but through relentless, calculating pursuit.

I barely escaped him then, counting myself lucky that I didn't see him again after giving him the slip near the western stream. Now I wonder if that luck was something else entirely—if he'd found other, more accessible prey.

Guilt cuts through me, sharp and immediate. The bloodied omega in the haven—Nessa weeping silent tears while fighting through an alpha-triggered miscarriage. Her thighs painted red, her face white as bone, her eyes empty as she stared at nothing. I'd kept my distance, focused on my own survival, offering no comfort. If I'd reached out instead...

"She had nightmares," Flora continues, dragging me back to the present. "Would wake screaming about 'completing the set.' I thought it was trauma from escaping the courts."

Her violet eyes fix on the token. "Now I see she never escaped at all."

The token pulses more urgently in my grip, its golden light fighting against the frost crawling across its surface. I feel the Summer Court magic within it reaching outward, sending signals, reporting its location. Each pulse brings a fresh surge of revulsion—the feeling of being watched from afar, of The Collector sensing his property through the magical connection.

"Where is she now?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Gone. She disappeared during the night." Flora's expression hardens. "Mira is helping the awakened omegas practice their manifestations, but Nessa..." She shakes her head. "I woke and she simply wasn't here. Her bed hadn't been slept in."

Icy dread pools in my stomach, churning against the quadruplets' restless movement. This isn't just a security breach. This is active betrayal by one of the very omegas I tried to help during the Hunt. The farm girl I gave an iron token to, encouraging her to have hope, never imagining she'd end up as part of The Collector's prized possessions.

Or that she'd return as his willing instrument.

"And you didn't think to mention your suspicions yesterday? When I was deciding whether to grant you sanctuary?" My voice drops dangerously low, cillae flaring across my skin with barely controlled anger.

"Would you have turned us away?" Flora challenges, straightening her spine in a gesture that reminds me of our conversations during the Hunt—her practicality cutting through fear. "Left Mira to the court hunters? Left me? Because one of us might be compromised?"

The question lands like a hammer blow against hot metal, reshaping my anger into something else—because she's right. I wouldn't have abandoned them regardless of risk. Couldn't have. The same protective instinct that drove me to enter the Hunt disguised as Willow would never allow me to turn away omegas seeking help, even with suspicions.

"Fuck," I mutter, staring at the token still fighting against my frost-encased grip. "How much does she know?"

Flora's expression turns grim. "Everything we've seen since arriving. The palace defenses. The awakened omegas. The preparations for your labor."

My blood runs cold. "The birth chambers?"

She nods once, sharp and definitive. "She insisted on a complete tour yesterday. Said she wanted to understand the 'safeguards' in place for when our time came." Her mouth twists bitterly. "Later, I found her studying the guard rotations, memorizing them. She claimed it was to feel safer, to know when to expect patrols."

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