Page 173 of Unhinged Omega

My dark coat whips around my legs, the fabric stiff with dried salt from the harsh wind coming off the Surhiiran lake as I scan the docks for a suitable vessel. Not my usual military attire, but discretion is paramount. The scarf wrapped around the lower half of my face in traditional Surhiiran style helps conceal my identity, though few would recognize me now anyway.

I've changed since my days as a prince.

The docks are busy despite the late hour, fishermen and merchants going about their business in the silvery moonlight reflecting off the dark waters. Perfect. More chaos means less chance of drawing attention.

My boots click softly against the weathered planks as I make my way past rusted shipping containers and piles of nets. The pungent stench of fish and diesel fuel makes my lip curl in distaste in spite of the scarf. A group of dockhands give me a wide berth as I pass, their eyes skittering away from my commanding presence.

I spot the perfect target lounging against a stack of crates. A grizzled fisherman, clearly deep in his cups judging by thenearly empty bottle dangling from his fingers. The scarf hanging halfway off his weathered face is flushed, and he leers hungrily at a pair of girls in white Surhiiran robes as they hurry past.

Perfect.

I approach silently, my footsteps masked by the constant slap of waves against the pier. The fisherman doesn't notice me until I'm practically on top of him. He startles, nearly dropping his bottle as he looks up at me with bleary eyes.

"Evening," I say smoothly, my accent carefully neutral. "I require passage across the lake."

He squints at me, swaying slightly. "Dock's closed," he slurs. Doesn't sound Surhiiran. Even better. "Come back tomorrow."

I reach into my coat and withdraw a thick envelope. "I think you'll find it's quite open." I fan the bills, letting him see the considerable sum within. "For a private charter."

The fisherman's bloodshot eyes widen at the sight of so much money. I can practically see the gears turning in his alcohol-addled mind as he weighs his options.

"Where to?" he asks finally, greed winning out over caution.

"The far shore toward the old mines," I lie, tucking the envelope away. He'll find out where we're really going soon enough. "It's my favorite place to enjoy the moonlight on a night like this."

He pales slightly at that, some of his drunken haze clearing. "That's... that's restricted waters. Dangerous."

"Hence the generous compensation." I step closer, using my height to loom over him. "Do we have an agreement?"

The fisherman licks his lips nervously, but his eyes keep darting to where I stored the envelope. "Yeah... yeah, alright. My boat's this way."

He leads me to a battered fishing vessel, rust streaking its hull and patches of peeling paint revealing the metal beneath. It's seen better days, but it'll serve my purposes.

As the fisherman fumbles with the moorings, I think of the intelligence I've gathered. The "interrogations" were... productive. My brother's pack has taken refuge in an abandoned compound on the far shore. Plague thinks himself clever, but he can't hide from me forever.

Not when he has something that belongs to me.

The boat's engine sputters to life, belching black smoke into the night air. I follow the fisherman up the short ladder to the wheelhouse.

"Straight across then?" he asks, adjusting various dials and gauges.

"Yes." I rest my hand casually on the hilt of the knife concealed beneath my coat. "Make good time and there will be a bonus."

He nods eagerly and pushes the throttle forward. The boat lurches away from the dock, cutting a white wake through the dark water. I move to stand by the grimy window, watching the shoreline recede behind us.

Soon, brother.

We're about halfway across when I notice the change in the fisherman's demeanor. His hands are trembling slightly on the wheel, and sweat beads on his brow despite the chill.

"We should turn back," he says suddenly, his voice tight with fear. "This... this isn't right."

I don't move from my position by the window. "Continue on course. In fact, you should veer left. Toward the old military outpost."

"F-fuck. You didn't really want to go to the mines, did you?"

"No."

"You don't understand," he protests, already beginning to turn the wheel. "These waters... they're watched. Byhim. The biggest fuckin' alpha you've ever seen. And they say his face?—"

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