Page 36 of Omega's Fever

“Eggs are good,” I force out, trying to modulate my tone. “Whatever’s easy.”

But the damage is done. He’s wound tighter than before, movements jerky as he pulls eggs from the fridge. I feel massive in his kitchen, like one wrong move will shatter something irreplaceable. Not the dishes. Him.

I lower myself carefully onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, trying to make myself smaller and less threatening.

The attempt is laughable since I’m six-six and built like a brick wall. There’s no version of me that doesn’t loom. I’ve always tried to stay quiet and make myself smaller but it never works.

Milo cracks eggs into a bowl and I see the moment that his brain shifts and he turns his attention to something he thinks he can talk about.

“We should talk about the case,” he says, whisking the eggs with unnecessary violence. “Go through your testimony. Make sure we’re prepared for whatever the prosecution throws at us.”

“Sure.” We should probably talk about what happened in the interview room. Or maybe that we are a prime match, but I suspect if I even approach the subject, he might implode completely.

“Good. That’s... good.” He pours eggs into a heated pan, and the sizzle fills the silence. “We can go through the timeline of events. Practice your responses.”

Practice. I’ve been over that night a thousand times already, picking apart every detail while trying to figure out how I missed the setup.

“The raid happened at 2 AM,” I say, because he seems to need words to fill the space. “I was in the basement, waiting for my match.

Milo plates the eggs and adds toast that’s perfectly golden. Hesets it in front of me and we’re both careful to ensure our fingers don’t touch.

“Tell me about that night. From the beginning.”

So I do. Between bites of eggs that are surprisingly good, I walk him through it. I tell him about the fighters who were on the roster and the crowd that was smaller than usual. I explain how I was pulled aside and asked me to just watch over things because he had something important come up.

“Who pulled you aside?” Milo asks.

In all this, I haven’t mentioned Cobb’s name once. I got into the habit of avoiding talking about him years ago. We all did.

I hesitate. “The guy who ran it all.”

Milo leans back in his chair and folds his arms. “What’s his name?”

“Better that you don’t know,” I say. “He’s bad news.”

“You need to work with me here.”

“Why?”

He looks at me flummoxed. “Do you want to go to prison?”

“No but it’s better than a bullet in the brain. Right now, if I go to prison, it’ll take away years of my life but I’ll still have that life. Don’t get me wrong, I’d fight it if I thought I’d have a chance but I don’t. It’s not just C— the guy in charge. It’s everyone around him. He’s got everyone in his pocket.”

Milo just looks at me, then he sighs. “The police’s file on you is a mess.”

I shrug. “Makes sense.”

“Is Sutter in on it?” Milo asks.

I think of the spiky public prosecutor. “I don’t know. I’m not sure she cares. I worked at The Pit. That makes me guilty.”

In between eating, Milo makes notes on a legal pad. His handwriting is neat. Everything about him is controlled except for the way his scent keeps spiking whenever I shift in my seat. Despite that, he seems a lot calmer. He pushes a piece of paperover to me.

“These names,” he says, tapping his pen against the paper. “The other fighters. Can any of them vouch for you?”

Damon’s name is on the list. He’s the only one I trust. The others aren’t all bad but everyone has their weak spots. I push the empty plate away. “No.”

Milo looks like he doesn’t believe me but he nods, still writing. The morning light catches in his hair and turns it gold at the edges. I force myself to look away.