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The studio lights are too bright. I can barely see the audience. That might not be a bad thing. From the boos and general grumblings, they’re glaring at me harder than the lights. We’re forty minutes into an hour-long intellectual sparring match and my cheeks hurt from the polite smile I’ve been keeping plastered across my face.

I cross my legs, adjusting position. The audience of Point of Contention watches like spectators at a boxing match. A few are rooting for me, but most are waiting for the knockout blow from David Glass.

“Let’s shift gears a bit, Dr. Thorndike,”

Glass says. The man has a gift for appearing approachable while going for the jugular.

“The government matching system, proponents call it essential support for omegas, critics call it forced marriage. Where’s the truth?”

I allow myself a measured smile.

“Calling it forced marriage is an enormous exaggeration. It completely misrepresents what it is.”

Someone in the audience boos. I ignore it.

“We need the matching system. We need registration. Prime matches —those with compatibility scores above ninety-five percent— are the closest thing to soul mates that science can explain. Why on earth would anyone not want to meet their one true love?”

A soft murmur ripples through the audience. Glass just nods.

“The data is clear,”

I continue, settling into the familiar rhythm of my argument.

“Prime matches show measurably better outcomes in every metric we’ve studied. Zero divorce rates. Greater reported life satisfaction. Better health outcomes. Much longer lifespans.”

I pause, allowing the audience to absorb the information.

“This isn’t my opinion. It’s fact.”

“Fact,”

Glass echoes, leaning forward in his chair.

“gathered by Bureau-funded studies.”

“Independently verified,”

I counter.

“The longitudinal studies from Northern University, for instance, had no Bureau affiliation when they began tracking match outcomes thirty years ago.”

“And yet,”

Glass presses.

“we’re talking about a system that tells citizens who they must bond with. Who they must marry. That’s significant government intrusion.”

A smattering of applause rises from one section of the audience. I resist the urge to glance in their direction.

“The Bureau doesn’t create compatibility,”

I correct him.

“It simply identifies it. The chemistry already exists. All we do is provide the introduction.”

“An introduction backed by legal consequences for non-compliance,”

Glass points out.

“Let’s be honest, refusing a high-percentage match comes with steep penalties.”

I shift slightly, recrossing my legs.

“Those are protective measures, not punitive ones. Prime Match bonds have proven benefits. The Bureau’s role is to safeguard those outcomes.”

“For the common good?”

Glass asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Precisely.”

Glass’s smile turns predatory.

“I’ve always found it interesting how often ‘the common good’ requires individual freedoms to be curtailed.”

He turns toward the camera.

“We’ll be right back after these messages.”

As the commercial break begins, assistants dart onto the set with water and makeup touch-ups.

Glass leans over, his on-air persona shifting slightly.

“Going well, I think,”

he says conversationally.

“After the break, I want to dig into the autonomy question more directly.”

I nod, downing water from the glass beside me. I’ve lost count of the number of live interviews I’ve done. I’m confident with my argument. I’ve made it a thousand times. Lectured on it another thousand. It’s the heat of the lights that I find uncomfortable and I don’t like drinking while the cameras are on. It makes me look like I’m buying time instead of answering the question.

The floor director counts us back in, and within seconds, the cameras are live again.

“Welcome back to Point of Contention,”

Glass says.

“We’re speaking with Dr. Thorndike, evolutionary psychologist and Bureau advocate, about the controversial matching system that pairs alphas and omegas based on genetic and hormonal compatibility.”

He turns back to me.

“Dr. Thorndike, let’s get personal for a moment. You’ve been registered with the Bureau since you were twenty-one, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“And yet, at thirty-three, you remain unmatched. Why is that? One might think the Bureau’s golden defender would be their ideal success story.”

The question is designed to unbalance me. Glass is going to come up with something better than that if he wants to get under my skin.

“I’ve received seventeen match notifications,”

I reply evenly.

“None reached Prime Match thresholds. Despite what my opponents think, both alphas and omegas are more than welcome to reject matches if they don’t deem them suitable. It’s only the prime matches where matching is so strongly encouraged. The day I get my prime match is the day I will no longer be a bachelor.”

Glass raises his eyebrows.

“Seventeen rejections? You sure you won’t reject the eighteenth?”

“It’ll depend on compatibility,”

I say.

“If my next match isn’t a prime one, then I’ll wait for the nineteenth or the twentieth or the hundredth. I believe in the system.”

A woman in the audience raises her hand, and Glass points to her.

“Yes, go ahead.”

“But what if your perfect match doesn’t want you?”

she asks, her voice clear in the studio.

“What if your ninety-eight percenter looks you in the eye and says ‘no thanks’?”

The audience murmurs again. Glass looks pleased.

“An excellent question,”

I say, addressing her directly.

“I’d respect their initial hesitation while recognizing it for what it is—fear of the unknown. Most resistance comes from misunderstanding what the match truly means.”

“That sounds suspiciously like you’re saying they don’t know what’s good for them,”

Glass interjects.

“Not at all,”

I reply. I pause, choosing my words carefully.

“The compatibility isn’t theoretical. It’s felt. And once felt, it’s not rejected. The Bureau’s own data shows that all reluctant matches report satisfaction within the first year,”

I add, feeling the confidence that comes with indisputable statistics.

“Ah,”

Glass says.

“but is that genuine satisfaction, or simply the path of least resistance? The Bureau does make life... difficult for non-compliant matches.”

“It creates conditions for success,”

I reply.

“No different than a university requiring attendance for certain courses.”

Glass laughs.

“I think there’s quite a difference between attending History 101 and getting married to someone the government has chosen for you.”

The audience’s laughter signals their agreement. Glass continues.

“If the system is as natural as you claim, why does it need so much enforcement?”

“For the same reason we need traffic laws despite knowing how to drive,”

I say.

“Social systems require structure. When people experience the reality of a high-compatibility match, the resistance fades. Biology is persistent.”

“And if it doesn’t fade?”

Glass presses.

“If an omega remains opposed?”

“That simply doesn’t happen with prime matches,”

I say simply.

“That’s not how the science works.”

“Strong words,”

Glass says, clearly pleased with the provocative statement. He glances at his notes.

“Let’s pivot to enforcement. The Bureau recently expanded the range of penalties...”

The segment continues for another fifteen minutes, Glass probing for weaknesses, me responding with the data.

As the interview concludes, Glass offers me his hand to shake.

“Always good to have you, Dr. Thorndike. Still controversial, I see.”

“The truth usually is,”

I return as I shake his hand, giving him a slight smile of my own.

I go out the back way after the interview, letting the studio’s security walk me to my car. The last time I was on Point of Contention I came back to eggs splattered all over the windshield. Two years ago, an activist ran up the centre aisle of a lecture theatre and tackled me to the ground. I got a pretty impressive black eye out of it. So far, that’s as bad as it’s been but I never turn down security.

This time, there are a few protestors with hand-painted signs, but they keep their distance, doing nothing more than shout ‘Omega rights are human rights’ at me, as if I didn’t already know that. I give them a polite nod as I pull out of the parking lot.

My apartment is peacefully quiet after the noise of the studio. I move through the rooms, shedding my public persona with each step. I leave my jacket on the peg by the door, hang my tie up in the bedroom.

I know how the public sees me but they’re wrong about one thing. They think I’m all hard line and all about the science. Yes, I believe in science but ultimately, I’m a romantic. If I wasn’t, I’d have accepted one of the seventeen matches I’ve had. I’ve met with each, of course. It’s protocol.

And each has confirmed what the numbers already told me: close, but not quite right. I believe in true love. I just also believe that there is real science behind it. Proven science. People have always fought fact with emotions.

After pouring myself two fingers of scotch, I settle into my reading chair. I lift my tablet from the side table, intending to review notes for tomorrow’s departmental meeting at the Bureau.

The notification pings as I unlock the screen. Another match. I set my glass down, an unfamiliar flutter. It happens every time. Every time I hope that this’ll finally be it. I prepare myself for disappointment.

Prime Match found. Compatibility Score: 98.7%

My breath catches. This isn’t just any prime match. This is among the highest compatibility ratings ever recorded. I can’t believe it. I’ve been waiting for so long. I tap to open the full file. I have been waiting for my omega for years and he is finally here.

The profile loads.

Name: Torres, Leo J. Designation: omega Age: 27 Compatibility: 98.7%

The name hits me like a punch in the stomach.

Leo Torres.

I know the name intimately, though we’ve never met. Torres is one of my most vocal critics. He’s a law student who’s built a campus reputation challenging everything I stand for. He’s penned scathing editorials about my research, organized protests outside my lectures. He once referred to me a.

“the government’s lapdog”

in a national paper.

I scroll through the attached information, a strange calm replacing my initial shock. Torres has managed to avoid registration until recently.

The file doesn’t include a photo, although there’s usually one taken at registration. I put his name into google instead and his photo comes up straight away at the top of an opinion piece for a local paper.

Blue eyes blaze with barely contained defiance even in the official portrait. His features are striking, almost delicate, but there’s nothing submissive in his expression. I find myself staring longer than necessary.

I go back to my tablet and read the match details again. Our match will have been automatically flagged as high-profile due to Torres’s activist status and my position. The Bureau will be aware of the potential complications. There’s a note indicating Torres has been notified simultaneously.

I try to imagine his reaction to this news. Fury, most likely. Disbelief. Perhaps even accusations of manipulation.

The thought should discourage me. Instead, I feel a peculiar satisfaction forming. This isn’t just any match. This is the most difficult case imaginable. The Bureau system has paired me with its most vocal opponent.

And that makes it perfect.

If Torres and I truly bond, and our 98% compatibility guarantees it, it will be the most compelling evidence possible that the system works. Not just works, but transcends everything else.

I turn off my tablet and lean back in my chair, scotch forgotten. Torres will resist, of course. He will fight the match with every weapon at his disposal. His entire identity is built around opposition to the Bureau.

But chemistry is persistent. It can’t be argued away. And 98.7% isn’t just attraction; it’s recognition at the cellular level.

“Of all the people,”

I murmur into the quiet apartment. “Perfect.”

The system works. It always has. And now, not only have I finally found my perfect mate, but the system has given me the perfect opportunity to prove it.