Page 25 of Unhinged Alphas

"Geo?" I scoff, the sound harsh and derisive. "Trust him? Not a chance. Geo would sell his own mother if the price was right."

Plague's head cocks to the side, confusion evident in his posture. "Then why go to him for information?"

"Because in this business, information is currency," I say with a shrug. "And for all his faults, Geo'sinformation is usually good. He didn't get to be the top dog in the black market by peddling bad intel."

Plague grunts, disgust evident in the sound. "So we're betting our lives on the word of someone who's probably a psychopath."

"Oh, heisa psychopath," I correct him, my voice dripping with amusement. "We wouldn't be friends otherwise."

Chapter

Seven

THANE

The sleek transport glides through the streets of the Capital, its tinted windows giving me a filtered view of the lush cityscape outside. I should feel nostalgic, a sense of homecoming as I take in the manicured parks and soaring architecture that defined my childhood.

But instead, all I feel is a gnawing unease.

A sense of wrongness permeating every gilded facade.

I've been back to the Capital many times over the years, of course. Reporting for duty, receiving new orders, the occasional visit with my father. But this time, something feels... different. Off-kilter. Like the entire foundation this city was built upon has shifted beneath my feet.

Nikolai's words echo in my mind, that insidious hint of the Council's involvement in the very things they claim to abhor. Omega trafficking. Exploitation of the most vile and depraved sort.

I'm not naive. I know the Council is willing to do just about anything to maintain its grip on power, and we're far from heroes. But I've always believed that the Council, and the tightly controlled borders that surround Reinmich, are the thin line standing between what's left of civilization and the utter chaos beyond it. That all the sins we've committed were paving the way for better people to rebuild a purer world.

But this... this is a new low, even for them. To treat omegas as commodities to be bought and sold, bred like cattle for the Council's own twisted ends?

It's an abomination.

A perversion of everything Reinmich is supposed to stand for.

Barely suppressed rage simmers in my veins. Part of me wants to believe Nikolai was lying—that it was nothing more than a ploy to unsettle us, to shake our faith in the Council's leadership.

But another, darker part of me knows the truth. Knows that the rot has spread too far, too deep, to be anything but systemic.

My father's reaction to Ivy's abuse is proof enough of that.

The transport slows, pulling up to the towering gothic facade of the Central Command building with its tall spires and ivy-laden walls. I straighten in my seat, shoving down the conflicting thoughts within. Now is not the time for doubt or indecision. I need to keep my head clear, to play my part flawlessly if I'm to get to the bottom of this nightmare.

The door opens, and I step out onto the gleaming portico, taking a moment to gaze up at the imposing edifice before me. This place was once a source of pride, a shining beacon of order and justice in a world gone mad. Now it feels more like a mausoleum, a monument to the slow death of everything we're supposed to fight for.

What the fuckhaveI been fighting for?

I shake off the thoughts and stride inside, my boots ringing against the polished marble floors. The atrium is a vast, echoing space, all soaring columns and vaulted ceilings that speak to the Council's outsized sense of grandeur. Functionaries and bureaucrats scurry about like ants alongside proud soldiers, their faces pinched and harried as they attend to the endless minutiae of governance.

I make my way to the central bank of elevators,swiping my credentials to gain access to the upper levels. The car is empty, blessedly silent save for the faint hum of the motors as it rockets skyward. I close my eyes, drawing in a deep, steadying breath as I brace myself for the confrontation to come.

My father's office is on the top floor, the entire space a study in understated opulence. Priceless art adorns the walls. Antique furniture is arranged in precise, aesthetically-pleasing groupings. It's a far cry from the stark utility of the bunkers and field bases I'm accustomed to, this indulgent display of wealth and privilege.

Funny how I never really noticed it before.

Or at least, it never bothered me before.

The thought needles at me, a persistent voice whispering in the back of my mind. How much of this was paid for with blood money? With the suffering of innocents traded and bartered like livestock?

I shove the treacherous notion aside as the secretary looks up, her perfectly coiffed mask of professional detachment slipping ever-so-slightly at my appearance. "Ah, Commander Hargrove," she murmurs, rising from her sleek chrome-and-glass workstation. "Your father is in a meeting at the moment, but I'll let him know you've arrived."