Page 163 of Unhinged Omega

Two guards in Surhiiran white approach, their rifles held at casual ready. Their steps falter when they get close enough to see my face clearly. To recognize I'm one of them. Perhaps a few even recognize whoI am.

Who Iwas.

"Halt," one commands in Surhiiran, though his voice wavers. "State your business."

"I am here for the omega being held in your custody," I reply in the same tongue, my accent flawless despite years away. Years of muting it and bending it around Reinmich's harsher tongue. "The one delivered by Prince Hamsa."

They exchange nervous glances. "There is no omega here," the second guard says carefully.

The words make my skin prickle with rage, but I keep my expression neutral. Years of practice make it easy to hide thefury building in my chest. The goddess knows Arthur Maybrecht has given me enough opportunities.

"Explain."

Another exchange of glances at my flat demand. More nervous shifting. These men know who I am. What I am capable of. What I have done.

"The omegawashere," the first guard admits. "But she was moved somewhere more secure."

"Moved." The word tastes like ash on my tongue. I scoff. "Somewhere more secure than a Surhiiran military facility?"

"It was a direct order," he continues, sweat beading on his brow despite the chilly wind.

“Whose order?" I demand.

His silence speaks volumes. So does the fact that he's unwilling to meet my eyes.

My hand moves to my gun before I consciously make the decision. Both guards tense, but they don't raise their weapons. They know better.

"Take me inside," I command. "Now."

"We cannot allow you entry," the first guard says, his voice shaking slightly. "You know this."

"Why?" I ask calmly, though I already know the answer. Can see it in the way they look at me, with that fear and disgust reserved for traitors.

The second guard's lip curls. "Because you are no longer a member of the Surhiiran army," he mutters.

"And?" I prompt, taking a step closer. The first guard shifts nervously, but the second meets my gaze with open hostility.

"Because you're a traitor," he spits. The word echoes off the pristine walls.

"What was that?" My voice drops dangerously low. "I didn't quite catch it."

The first guard tries to intervene. "Sir, perhaps we should?—"

But the second guard cuts him off, shoulders squaring as he stares me down. "I said you're a traitor to your own people. Everyone knows the story of the traitor prince who sold out his own blood. His own country."

A laugh bubbles up from my chest, harsh and cold. Both guards tense at the sound.

Good. They should be afraid.

"That is correct," I say, taking another step forward. "Iama traitor. My allegiance lies with something far greater than country or crown. And I will not hesitate to snuff out the life of any fool who stands between me and what I am owed. What Prince Hamsa promised me. A regent's promise is his bond—whether it is given to a traitor or not."

Their rifles come up in unison, but I'm already moving. My gun barks twice before they can squeeze their triggers. They crumple, white uniforms blossoming red.

More guards pour from the gates, drawn by the gunfire. Their bright uniforms make them easy targets. Each shot finds its mark. The first wave falls before they can even ready their weapons.

The second wave is more cautious, taking cover behind pillars and barricades. But I know this place. I helped design these defenses, after all. Their tactics are predictable, their movements telegraphed by years of the same drills.

I flank them easily, my boots silent on the polished stone. The first guard doesn't know I'm there until my knife finds his throat. His blood sprays across the pristine wall in an arc of crimson, marking my path.

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