Page 42 of Knot Their Safe Haven

Fighting was exhausting when you weren't sure what you were fighting for.

The next time awareness crept in, it brought more clarity. The beeping was still there—my electronic heartbeat, steady and somehow reassuring. But now I could distinguish other sounds.The whisper of climate control. Distant footsteps in a hallway. And voices—two of them, clear enough that words started forming meaning in my drugged brain.

"—the recovery timeline is promising, but as I've mentioned, the critical factor with Omega patients isn't just physical healing."

Female voice, professional, with that particular cadence that marked years of medical training. She was standing somewhere to my left, not too close, maintaining that careful distance doctors learned to keep from patients who might not wake up.

"Stress." A male voice from my right, closer, close enough that I could almost feel the warmth of presence even through whatever drugs kept me floating. The word wasn't a question, but there was weight to it, understanding that went deeper than mere acknowledgment.

"Precisely." Papers rustled—a chart being reviewed, probably. "Omegas in particular are susceptible to decline when their emotional support systems are... insufficient. The body may heal, but without proper pack bonds, especially at her age?—"

"Her age?" The interruption was sharp, dangerous in a way that made my barely-conscious mind pay attention. "She's thirty-nine, not ninety."

"Of course, I didn't mean—" The doctor backtracked quickly, professional composure cracking slightly. "What I meant to say is that unclaimed Omegas approaching forty have additional vulnerabilities. Their bodies are already under biological stress from lack of bonding. Add traumatic injury, and without a pack to provide emotional and pheromonal support..."

She trailed off, but the implication hung heavy in the recycled air. I could die. Not from the injuries, whatever they were, but from being alone. From being unclaimed. From exactly the thing I'd been dying from slowly for twenty years.

How fucking poetic.

"The two men and woman who were here earlier," the male voice said, and something about his tone made me strain to hear better, though my body remained unresponsive. "They aren't her pack?"

A pause.

Then the distinct sound of a door closing, followed by the electronic beep of a lock engaging. When the doctor spoke again, her voice was lower, more conspiratorial.

"I'm only telling you this because you clearly care about this woman—flying her from Germany during your acquisition meetings to ensure she received the best Omega specialist care. That kind of dedication deserves honesty."

Germany? Someone flew me to Germany?

"The two men and the woman—who does appear to be an Alpha in transition, quite remarkable actually—confirmed they are not her official pack. Associated with her? Yes, clearly. It's also medically documented that she has a son, which might explain the younger Alpha who was quite... agitated about the situation."

Icarus. My son was here. I remember having him yes…with…

"But when I emphasized the need to confirm pack status for treatment authorization, they couldn't—or wouldn't—provide documentation."

The silence that followed felt heavy enough to drown in. My chest tightened with something that might have been rage or might have been heartbreak. Even now, even with me lying here broken enough to need specialists, they wouldn't claim me.

Wouldn't put their names on paper…wouldn't make it official…

"You're saying she won't be able to authorize treatment that could prevent paralysis or other major complications without pack confirmation?"

Paralysis?

The word echoed through my consciousness again and again. Is that why I couldn't feel properly? Why everything seemed disconnected and distant? Was I paralyzed, or was I going to be if?—

"Yes." The doctor's voice was clinical but not unkind. "As inhuman as it sounds, those are the regulations. Unmated Omegas require pack authorization for any major medical procedures. If I sign off on surgery without proper documentation, I lose my license."

Another silence, this one longer.

I could hear breathing—his, controlled but with an edge that suggested barely leashed emotion.

When he finally spoke, his voice was different. Harder.

"Are these men aware of the extent here?"

"I doubt they understand that it prevents surgical intervention," she admitted. "But the implications should be clear enough. An Omega in critical condition, and they won't formalize their relationship even for medical necessity."

They know. I mean…if I’m apparently older, aren’t they as well?