Page 44 of Daisy

I study their faces, seeing the same fear that's been eating at me since we left the city. We all understand what we've taken on. What we're up against.

"So we adapt," I say simply. "We become harder to find."

"With what resources?" Dante asks sharply. "We're talking about evading one of the most powerful men in the country."

Hawk's laugh holds no humor, but there's a cocky edge to his voice. "Baby, we've got charm, good looks, and a van. What more do we need?"

Despite everything, I almost smile at that. I'm starting to like this alpha. "Then we get creative," I say, building on his confidence.

Silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of what we're facing.

Dante runs a hand over his short hair, the gesture sharp and frustrated. "There's context you need." His voice carries the weight of years of observation. "Her uncle hasn't just arranged her marriage. He's conditioned her since childhood. Broken down her sense of self until she believes her only value lies in the alliance he can create."

My chest aches listening to this. I've read about psychological conditioning in textbooks, but hearing what they did to her makes it real in a way that turns my stomach. Years of someone destroying a child's sense of self. Making her believe she's only worth what others can use her for.

"How extensive?" I ask.

"Years of conditioning. Since presentation." Dante's jaw tightens. "Same methods used on her sisters. Both placed with strategic packs." Dante's jaw tightens. "Intimidation protocols. Dominance displays during preparation sessions. Public correction techniques."

"Systematic abuse," I say quietly.

"And Daisy was next," Cassian adds, lifting his head from his hands.

"The Fairburn pack," Dante confirms. "They've already negotiated terms. Already made decisions about her reproductive timeline."

The way he talks about it. Like she's a breeding schedule instead of a person makes bile rise in my throat.

"Well, they'll need to renegotiate," I say dryly.

Understanding passes between us. Whatever the cost, whatever the risk, she's not going back to that system.

"The scent match complicates things," I observe, watching Dante's confusion. "You really don't know what that means?"

"Enlighten me."

"That compulsion you felt to protect her," I explain, falling back on my research background. "The way your instincts overrode rational thought when you saw her in danger. It indicates biological compatibility. Genetic matching that's supposed to be exceptionally rare."

Understanding dawns in Dante's expression. "All of us?"

"All of you," I confirm. "Which is why we don't tell her. She needs to choose based on her own feelings, not biological programming."

Nods all around.

The walkto town gives me time to think. To process what we're really dealing with.

The main strip is exactly what I expected from a beta town - practical, no-frills, built for working people. I head toward a small service center that doubles as a grocery store, the kind of place that sells basic clothing alongside snacks and necessities. A hand-painted sign in the window reads "Betas Welcome" - the polite way of saying alphas aren't.

I approach the shopping with the same methodical care I'd use for research.

What does someone who's never chosen her own clothes need? Basics. Comfort. Warmth for the cold, wet weather we've been having. Nothing that would make her feel exposed or performative.

The ATM dispenses my entire savings. Three hundred and forty dollars. Everything I have.

In the clothing store, I select items based on texture and practicality rather than fashion. Soft cotton sweaters. Warm jeans. Comfortable underwear and thick socks. A waterproof jacket for the rain that's been constant lately. Colors that seem gentle rather than demanding attention.

The grocery store is where I see the television.

"...no casualties reported in last night's attack on the Crescent City Omega House," the anchor reports. "All omegas have been accounted for and are safe..."