Page 3 of Omega's Formula

“I got a letter today. More bureaucratic bullshit,” I say conversationally. “Just need to jump through some more hoops. I’m going to get working on the additional paperwork tomorrow.”

It’s not a lie. Registering with the Bureau requires paperwork.

As much as I hate the Bureau and as much as I don’t want a damn alpha, I’d marry the devil himself if it would get my sister into this trial.

Ellie studies me after I say it. I’ve always been a terrible liar. I’m not sure if she believes me but she nods anyway, lets me change the subject to her article about the German trials.

I stay until visiting hours end at eleven, then walk home under street lights and drizzle. Mrs Kay’s light is still on when I get back, and I almost knock on her door.

Almost tell her everything. But Mrs Kay has done enough for me already. I can’t ask her to fix this too and she couldn’t if she tried. Still, it’d be nice to have someone to talk it over with. Maybe in the morning, if she’s awake.

Instead, I climb the stairs to my room, pull out my phone, and stare at the Bureau’s website. The registration portal is easy to find.

OMEGA MATCH BUREAU REGISTRATION: connecting compatible pairs for optimal family outcomes.

The language makes my skin crawl.Optimal family outcomes. It makes it sound as if omegas are products to be optimized. I shudder.

But it’s not like I’m looking for love anyway. All I need is an alpha who’ll not object to me looking after Ellie. I know enough about the matches to know that I can refuse them if they’re not suitable. They’ll encourage me to accept but there’s nothing the Bureau can do if I point blank refuse.

I can wait until I find an alpha who’ll accept my terms. Besides, if I’m even luckier, I won’t get any matches and registration will be enough to satisfy the trial committee that I’m ‘stable’.

I grab the cold stew and eat as I fill in the form. It’s longer than I expected. There are pages of questions about my background, preferences, lifestyle. I answer honestly where I can, lie where I have to.

No, I don’t want children right now. No, I’m not willing to relocate. Yes, I have any dealbreaker preferences for my match. I put ‘need to continue as carer for sister’ in the box under ‘Other’.

The truth—that any alpha who wants me will have to accept that Ellie comes first, always—isn’t an option on their form.

There’s a section about my work history. I stare at it for a long moment before typing:Former pharmaceutical researcher, currently employed as barista.

Such a short sentence for such a hard history. It doesn’t cover my research that that was stolen. Doesn’t mention Alistair, my ex-fiancé, the alpha who promised to love me and stole from me instead. It doesn’t mention the legal battle I lost because I couldn’t afford lawyers. It doesn’t mention that my work is now making someone else rich while I pour coffee for minimum wage.

What’s the point? It’s not like the Bureau cares about any of that and it’s not like any alpha would either. All an alpha wants is something to have sex with and give him babies. They’re all a bunch of creeps.

The final section is an in-person appointment to get my bloodwork done. I look through all the available appointments at medical centers across the city. There’s one available at the hospital for ten tomorrow morning and I book it. I don’t think my boss at the coffee shop will mind me ducking out for ten minutes. I’m a good worker.

A confirmation page pops up, asking me to confirm and submit.

I hit submit before I can second-guess myself. The confirmation page loads immediately.

Thank you for registering with the Omega Match Bureau. Your profile is being processed.

You will be notified of any matches within 48-72 hours of your bloodwork being processed. Please note that prime matches (compatibility 95% or higher) require mandatory attendance at initial meeting and good-faith effort to establish relationship.

Mandatory. Yuck. It’s the twenty-first century and somehow the world is still allowing forced marriages. Well, practicallyforced. Prime matches are the only ones that they really bully you into, but fortunately they’re rare. I’d be really unlikely to get one.

I close the laptop and lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The apartment above me—Mrs Kay’s niece and her two kids—has someone watching TV too loud. I can hear canned laughter through the thin walls.

I might not even get a match, I tell myself. Lots of omegas register and wait months or years before the Bureau finds someone compatible. And if I do get matched, I can suck it up for however long it takes. A year, maybe two. Just long enough to get Ellie enrolled in the trial, see her through treatment and know she’s going to be okay.

Then I can walk away. File for dissolution, pay whatever penalties they require, go back to my tiny room and my minimum wage job and my life that at least belongs to me.

It’d be worth it.

Now that’s done and I’m officially registered, I can get started on the paperwork to appeal the committee’s decision on the basis that I am now a registered omega. I don’t wait. The sooner I can get Ellie on the trial, the sooner she’ll get better and we can move on with our lives.

By 2 AM, I’ve written up the appeal and emailed it. I’m in bed and sleeping by 2.15 AM and at 4 AM, I’m up again to get ready for my shift so that we can get the coffee shop open for five.

I ghost walk through the morning. Open coffee shop, smile at customers, pour coffee, go up one floor to let the Bureau assholes take my blood so they can try match me off to some dickhead alpha, back to work, more coffee, more customers, visit Ellie at lunch. Then coffee, customers, Ellie again and finally home.