Page 26 of Omega's Fever

“Then perhaps you can explain why you haven’t consulted with your client?”

Milo’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “I felt it prudent to minimize direct contact given the... circumstances.”

“The circumstances.” Melkham removes his glasses to clean them, a gesture that somehow manages to convey complete disdain. “Mr. Warren, I don’t care if your client is your prime match, your mortal enemy, or the second coming of Christ himself. You have a job. Do it.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Both of you, courtroom C. Now. And Mr. Warren? If you request recusal one more time, I’ll hold you in contempt. The sentence for contempt in my court is thirty days. I doubt your firm would appreciate that.”

We file out in silence. My escort flanks me while Milo walks ahead, his gait stiff and mechanical. The elevator ride down feels eternal. His scent fills the small space until I’m drowning in it. My hands shake with the effort of not reaching for him, but he hasn’t looked at me.

The courtroom is already packed with potential jurors. They turn to stare as we enter. Milo takes his seat at the defense table. I’m guided to the chair beside him.

This close, I can hear his breathing. It’s quick and shallow, like he’s trying not to inhale. Like my scent is poison.

“All rise!”

Judge Melkham sweeps in, robes billowing. The room stands. When we sit again, Milo shifts his chair a couple of inches further from mine.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the judge addresses the jury pool, “we’re here for voir dire in the matter of State versus Hayes. The defendant is charged with human trafficking, racketeering, assault, and conspiracy. Ms. Sutter, you may begin.”

Victoria Sutter rises from the prosecution table. She looks like she’s already won, all sharp smiles and predatory confidence. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

The first potential juror is called. A middle-aged woman in a floral dress who keeps glancing at me like I might leap across the room. Oh, she is definitely going to go for the guilty verdict. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. There are going to be a lot of them today.

Sutter asks the standard questions. Do you have any bias against the prosecution? Have you been a victim of violent crime? Can you remain impartial?

“Mr. Warren,” the judge prompts when Sutter finishes. “Your questions.”

Milo stands slowly. When he turns to face the juror, I get my first real look at him in four weeks.

He looks like hell.

The weight loss is more pronounced from the front. His cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass. But it’s his eyes that stop me cold. The vivid blue I remember is dulled, like someone turned down the color saturation.

My heart tightens. Everything in me knows that this is my omega and my omega is hurting. I want to reach for him and pull him into my arms and make everything okay. What is wrong with him?

“Good morning, Mrs. Patterson.” His voice is steady, professional. “I just have a few questions. Have you or anyone close to you ever been wrongfully accused of something?”

The woman blinks. “I... well, my nephew was suspended from school once for something he didn’t do.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Angry. Frustrated. He was a good kid.”

“Were you able to prove his innocence?”

“Eventually, yes. Another student came forward.”

Milo nods. “So you understand that accusations aren’t the same as truth.”

“Objection,” Sutter calls out, sounding bored. “Counsel is leading.”

“Sustained. Mr. Warren, please rephrase.”

Milo doesn’t miss a beat. He’s smooth. It’s smooth. Despite looking like he hasn’t slept in weeks, Milo works the jury pool with surgical precision. He finds the threads of doubt and the personal experiences that might make them question the prosecution’s narrative.

By the sixth juror, I’m genuinely impressed. By the twelfth, I’m trying not to stare at the way he gestures when he makes a point.