The Villain Mistook Me for an Omega

I was trying to get a room key when the receptionist's scanner began to scream. The lobby at the Marrow Hotel was all pale stone, brass light fixtures, and tired travelers pretending not to stare. I'd been in Vesper Bay for eleven minutes. I had no luggage, no local money, and a silver wristband that had appeared around my arm when I woke up on the beach across the street. Now a red light flashed across the front desk. "Please remain where you are," the receptionist said. "I'd love to. I'm trying to check in." The scanner gave another piercing beep. A man in a charcoal suit stepped out from behind a velvet partition. He took one look at the wristband and reached for the small device clipped to his belt. My stomach tightened. "Is there a problem?" I asked. The receptionist kept her eyes on the screen. "Your registration is incomplete." "I don't have a registration." "That's the problem." I backed away from the desk. The suited man raised a hand, and two hotel guards moved to block the doors. The wristband warmed against my skin. A translucent line of text flickered into view above it, visible only to me. TRANSIT ERROR. LOCAL CLASSIFICATION REQUIRED. I stared at the words. A second line appeared. BIOLOGICAL STATUS: OMEGA. "What?" I said. The suited man heard me. His gaze sharpened. "Step away from the desk," he ordered. I turned toward the doors anyway. The guards shifted. The first took my elbow. Someone grabbed his wrist before he could close his hand around me. "Let go." The voice came from behind me, low and controlled. The guard released me immediately. I turned. The man who had stepped between us was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark coat that looked too expensive to wrinkle. His black hair had been cut short at the sides, and a thin scar crossed one eyebrow. I knew his face from the news display above the hotel bar. Adrian Rook, chairman of Rook Meridian, had been pictured beneath a headline about a licensing scandal and a boardroom coup. The news had called him ruthless. The men around him acted as if they believed it. His eyes moved from my wristband to my face. "What's your name?" "June Mercer." "Do you know why the hotel flagged you?" "No. I got here less than fifteen minutes ago." "That wasn't my question." I kept my chin up. "Then ask a question I can answer." A hint of interest crossed his face. "She's with me." The receptionist stiffened. "Mr. Rook, the registry requires—" "I know what the registry requires." He took my arm, not roughly, but with the confident pressure of someone used to being obeyed. I pulled free. "If you're trying to help," I said, "you can start by not grabbing me." His hand dropped. "Fair enough. Walk with me." "Why?" "Because if the registry classifies you as an unregistered Omega, the local protection office will detain you until it determines your sponsor." I looked at the guards. "And you're the alternative?" "I'm the person who can keep them from putting you in a van." "Comforting." "It wasn't meant to be." The wristband flashed again. A map appeared, then dissolved. Beneath it, the transit error message pulsed like a warning. I had no idea how I'd arrived in this city. One minute I'd been in my apartment, testing a new travel-planning program that promised a "fully immersive escape." The next, I'd woken on a gray beach beneath an unfamiliar sky. The program's cheerful icon had vanished from my phone. The phone itself had become a black rectangle with no signal and no recognizable apps. This wasn't a vacation. It was a malfunction. And Adrian Rook was the first person I'd met who seemed capable of understanding the danger, even if he had no idea what I actually was. "Your protection comes with a contract?" I asked. "Everything in this city comes with a contract." "Then I'll take my chances." "You can," he said. "But they'll classify you before you reach the street." "I'm not an Omega." His expression changed by a fraction. "The band disagrees." "The band is wrong." "Then prove it." He nodded toward the front doors, where the guards still waited. "Or come upstairs and get a private scan." I hated that those were the only choices I could see. "Temporary," I said. "Until we know what happened." "No contract. No bond. No touching me without permission." His eyes held mine. "Agreed." I followed him toward the private elevator, aware of every gaze in the lobby. When the doors closed, the wristband gave one final pulse. TRANSIT WINDOW: 29 DAYS. I looked at Adrian. "What does that mean?" He glanced at the band. "I don't know." For once, I believed him.