Page 88 of Broken Omega

I stare at the screen, losing my grasp on the envelope as I take in the headline.

“Oh my God,” I mutter.

Frank Palmer went on a rampage at Goldcrest, on Friday night. I read quickly, my stomach churning as I hold my breath, waiting to find out about survivors. The first paragraph details out the grisly nature of the murders before the writer reveals that the notorious serial killer murdered the head of admin, a handful of security guards, and a few visiting Alphas.

I let out a breath. Brooke’s name isn’t mentioned. Lana’s either.

“That’s probably a funeral invite,” the kid says as he takes the console out of my hands.

“I doubt it,” I tell him, though I don’t know what else it could be.

I guess one of my old friends from high school could be getting married.

I pick it up. The kid watches me, and I frown at him.

“That’s definitely an academy envelope,” he says.

“How do you know?”

“It has their stamp on the back. And, anyway, I think that was their limo driver, dude.”

Their stamp?I turn it over and see it’s been sealed with wax. Goldcrest’s emblem is emblazoned into the wax.Holy shit, he’s right.

“See?” he says, giving me a self-satisfied smile. “My best friend’s brother got an invitation once. He let us look at it.”

I open the envelope quickly, finding an invitation inside.

“You are cordially invited to a small, social gathering a Goldcrest Academy on Friday night at Eight.”

Even reading it out loud isn’t enough to let the information sink in.

The kid looks over my shoulder. “Wow. They let Betas in now?”

I shake my head. “I’m an Alpha.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, giving me a funny look. “You really don’t seem like an Alpha.”

“You’re not the first to notice,” I tell him.

There’s small print on the card, informing me that this opportunity won’t be extended again if for any reason I choose not to attend the event.

That’s kind of weird. I look at the kid who’s squinting at me as if whatever makes me an Alpha might be seen if he treats me like one of those ugly ass magic eye portraits.

“Is this what your brother’s friend’s invitation looked like?” I ask, waving it at him.

“Yeah, but his was more of a standard approval. It didn’t have any fine print or whatever.”

Sounds about right. I’m getting an offer after waiting for six years, but it’s an offer they can take back if I don’t play by their rules.

“Maybe they can’t tell you’re an Alpha, either.” The kid shrugs.

“Maybe. Any advice?”

He holds both forefingers up as he walks away, backwards down the hall.

“Try to look more Alpha,” he says, nodding. “Good luck with that.”

He turns and goes out of the building’s front doors. I lean against the wall, looking down at the invitation, as if it might suddenly crumble to dust in my hands.

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