Page 265 of Awakened

My brows shoot to my hairline. “Wait, really?”

Her smile is mischievous. She leans in and lowers her voice to a whisper. “I was just casually wondering what that massive bloke, Gavran, looked like with his shirt off, and just like that my Sight kicked in. And there he was, in all his shirtless glory. All 783 miles of sweaty, gleaming, tanned abs under silky skin and that little trail of hair that starts at his belly button and disappears into⁠—”

“Okay, okay! Oh my Fates!!” I throw my hands over my ears, grimacing and trying not to gag. She throws back her head and laughs, and it’s not long before I find myself doing the same.

Is this what it feels like to have a friend? To share secrets, talk about crushes, and giggle? Would we have done this when we were younger in another life? Hid under the covers late at night and covered our mouths to keep from laughing too loud and waking up our parents?

Another world where the punishment for that would have been a stern reminder to go to sleep, along with a fond, pointed look from my father as my mother pulled on his arm, sending me a wink and a kiss when he wasn’t looking.

Our laughter dies off, mine a bit faster than hers. To keep her from asking about my sudden shift, I ask, “So you think this place is what’s causing the shift in your abilities?”

“It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”

She stands, then slowly turns around the room, spinning in place. She plants her fists on her hips and says, “If I take into account the obvious cultural differences, the best I can figure is that this was a place to learn. Like… a classroom, but more hands-on. More specifically, I think this is where the people in the mural—whoever they were—came to practice their magic.”

My heart jumps, slamming against my ribs. I push to my feet, take in the room, and consider her theory. I think of the murals, and the sense of intention I felt behind what each figure was doing. The familiarity in their stances—arms extended, palms out, as though summoning something from that specific part of their hand.

Something like wind.

Something like fire.

Elements, just like the symbols etched around the dais. Air. Fire. Water. Earth.

And all the stuff packed on and under the shelves. Training implements, to help the user practice specific abilities?

The more I consider it, the more I realize she has to be right. And if she’s right, and this was a training room, and the people here were actually able to do all the wondrous things in the murals…

“Who were they?” I whisper, suddenly so cold my fingers stiffen and tingle. I wrap my arms around myself and turn to Branwen, pleading for answers I know she doesn’t have.

My friend studies me for a long moment, lips thin and brows furrowed. Then, she shakes her head.

“I don’t know, Idril.”

She crosses the room and makes her way to the onyx dais.

“Whoever they were,” she whispers, bending over and running her fingers along the gleaming, polished stone, “I think it’s safe to say, you’re one of them.”

Chapter 32

Daxen

Each shovel full of dirt I dig up feels like I’m digging away at pieces of my soul. My jaw aches from clenching it, and a throbbing pain has taken up permanent residence at my temples and the base of my neck.

It doesn’t matter. I keep going.

All I see is that room. That fucking room. I can’t stop thinking about how empty it was.

Not just empty but sad. I could feel it, the emotion wrapping around me and trickling into my lungs with every breath. It pulled me down, suffocating me with the truth I spent so long denying.

I don't understand how she lived like that. An Omega existing in that kind of environment is unfathomable. They need a Nest. It’s not a Fatesdamned personality trait; it’s imperative to their physical health and mental well-being. Sure, going without for a month or two won’t do much outside of making them antsy and uncomfortable, but push it too far and it turns into abuse real fast.

Families pour their fortunes into Nests for their Omegas. Parents won’t even consider letting their Omega daughter court a Pack without a Nest or Nesting room, plus documented proof of funds set aside to furnish it however they want.

It’s the first thing an Omega does when she designates. A biological imperative that takes over and pushes them to create something safe that’s all their own.

Hell, in most countries, entering an Omega’s Nest without explicit permission is a federal crime punishable by up to ten years in prison and a massive fine.

That’s how fucking far society will go to ensure Omegas feel safe and secure in their Nests.