Chapter 2

By morning, the pamphlet was still in the trash, which felt like a small but meaningful victory.

I made coffee, burned it slightly because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and stood in my kitchen staring at the sink like it might offer legal advice. My phone buzzed twice with messages I ignored. If it were my mother calling back to clarify that she loved me, but not enough to sign the paperwork, I would have lost my temper before noon.

I checked my email instead.

There it was. Subject line polite. Neutral. Official.

Omega Status Confirmation and Next Steps.

I opened it with the same energy I brought to overdue tuition notices and emails that started with per our last conversation.

The government had a portal. Of course it did. Everything terrible came with a portal now. It outlined my rights in bullet points and my limitations in footnotes. I was allowed to live alone for twelve months. I was allowed to work, provided my employer was informed. I was allowed to decline bonding, though refusal past the grace period would result in reassignment.

Reassignment.

Like I was furniture.

I scrolled slowly, absorbing it the way you absorb a bad diagnosis. Calmly. Thoroughly. With the quiet understanding that panic was a waste of oxygen.

At the bottom of the page, a cheerful reminder blinked.

Failure to secure sponsorship may result in placement for your own protection.

Protection was doing a lot of work there.

I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair, coffee cooling in my mug. Yesterday, I had been invisible. Today, I was a liability everyone wanted managed.

Fine.

I dressed for class like nothing had happened. Jeans. Boots. A jacket I liked because it made me feel competent. On the walk to campus, I counted how many people looked at me twice.

It wasn’t many. Just enough to notice.

The first restriction hit at the library.

I scanned my card at the late-night entrance out of habit, and the screen flashed red.

Escort Required.

I stared at it, waiting for the machine to realize it had made a mistake. It did not.

A security guard glanced over. His eyes flicked to my wrist, where a temporary omega band sat like an accusation I hadn’t earned.

“Need an alpha to badge you in,” he said, not unkindly. Like he was explaining parking validation.

“I was here yesterday,” I said.

“Yesterday you weren’t flagged.”

Flagged.

I smiled at him. It was not my best smile. It was the one I used when people were being stupid, and I was deciding whether to correct them or remember their name for later.

“Got it,” I said. “I’ll study somewhere else.”

He nodded, relieved, and went back to pretending he wasn’t part of the problem.

Outside, the air felt heavier. My head buzzed faintly, like static under my skin. I took a breath and catalogued the sensation instead of reacting to it. Awareness before panic. Always.

In class, the professor paused when I walked in. Just a fraction of a second. Long enough to be real.

He didn’t say anything. But when I raised my hand, he called on me faster than usual, like he was eager to prove something to himself.

I answered the question. Correctly. Thoroughly. Better than necessary.

He didn’t meet my eyes afterward.

At lunch, a guy I vaguely recognized slid into the seat across from me without asking. His scent hit first. Too sharp. Too confident. Like he expected gratitude.

“So,” he said, smiling. “Heard you presented.”

I blinked at him. Slowly.

“And?” I said.

“And I’m an alpha,” he continued, as if that explained anything. “Figured I’d introduce myself.”

I looked at his tray. His hands. The way he leaned forward, already assuming proximity.

“Do you want a medal,” I asked, “or were you just planning to announce that and wait for something to happen?”

His smile faltered.

“I’m just saying,” he said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I wasn’t,” I said. “Until you sat down.”

He laughed, uncertain. “You don’t have to be defensive.”

“I do,” I said pleasantly. “You just gave me a reason.”

He stood up a moment later, muttering something about attitudes. I finished my sandwich in peace.

By the end of the day, the pattern was clear.

Doors that used to open didn’t. Conversations shifted. People assumed familiarity they hadn’t earned. Concern crept into places where respect used to be.

My body felt wrong in small, accumulating ways. Not weak. Not fragile. Just alert. Like something inside me had switched from standby to active duty.

I went home and pulled the pamphlet back out of the trash.

I read it this time. All of it.

The rules. The loopholes. The programs are designed to look generous while quietly funneling omegas into acceptable lanes. Sponsorship tiers. Temporary contracts. Corporate partnerships.

There it was.

Omega Internship Sponsorship Initiative.

Temporary. Legal. Clean.

I smiled.

Not because it was kind. Because it was useful.

I wasn’t going to beg. I wasn’t going to wait. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let the state decide what kind of alpha I ended up attached to.

If the system wanted me managed, I would manage it first.

I opened my laptop and started researching.

One year.

Plenty of time.

And now, finally, a plan.