Sophia
The assembly hall reeks of fear-sweat and industrial cleaner, a combination that makes my stomach turn as I file in with the other omegas. We're herded to the back rows like always, but today the usual hierarchy feels more oppressive—Council investigators stationed at every exit, their silver badges catching the harsh fluorescent lights.
Investigator Holt stands at the podium, immaculate in his thousand-dollar suit despite the Georgia humidity seeping through the ancient air conditioning. His junior investigators flank him with tablets ready, recording everything. The way he surveys the room reminds me of a predator cataloging prey.
"As you know," his voice carries that particular Council condescension that sets my teeth on edge, "we're conducting individual interviews regarding
