Page 73 of Omega's Formula

“No.” We say it simultaneously, the first thing we’ve agreed on since entering this building.

Sun makes another note. The silence that follows is oppressive.

Throughout the session, I keep glancing at Nolan. I can’t seem to stop myself. Every time I look, he seems worse. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the comfortabletemperature of the room, and he keeps swallowing in a way that suggests his throat is bothering him.

What’s wrong with him?

I want to ask. The protective alpha part of me wants to reach across the empty chair between us and touch his forehead, check for fever, do something other than sit here pretending I don’t notice that he looks like he’s about to collapse.

But I evicted him. I have no right to concern myself with his wellbeing now.

Sun is saying something about quarterly check-ins and documentation requirements when Nolan suddenly stands.

The motion is abrupt, graceless, his chair scraping back against the floor. His face has gone from grey to green.

“Excuse me,” he manages, and then he’s moving, nearly running toward the door we came through, disappearing into the hallway beyond.

I hear the door of the bathroom up the hall slam and then a moment later, I hear it. The unmistakable sound of someone being violently sick.

Sun and I sit in silence. The retching continues, muffled by what I assume is a bathroom door but still audible enough to make the situation clear.

“Is Mr. West ill?” Sun asks, his tone carefully neutral.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” He repeats the words back to me. “He’s your matched partner. Your omega. And you don’t know if he’s unwell?”

“He’s not my omega.” The denial sounds weaker than it did before. “We don’t... we’re not in contact. He could have the plague and I wouldn’t know about it.”

“Perhaps that’s something you should consider changing.” Sun’s gaze is steady. “Whatever difficulties exist between you, Mr. Nilsson, you accepted responsibility for him when youcompleted the matching process. The Bureau takes the welfare of matched omegas very seriously.”

“He’s a grown adult. He’s capable of taking care of himself.”

I hear the sound of the bathroom door opening, then footsteps in the hallway, slow and unsteady. Nolan reappears in the doorway.

“I apologize for the interruption,” he says. His voice is hoarse. “Something I ate, probably. I’m fine now.”

He’s not fine. Anyone with eyes can see he’s not fine.

Sun rises from his seat. “Mr. West, I think we should end this session early. You’re clearly unwell. I’d strongly recommend you see a doctor as soon as possible.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Sun’s voice is kind but firm. “The Bureau has an obligation to ensure the health and safety of all matched individuals. If you won’t seek medical attention on your own, we may need to require it.”

Nolan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue further. He just nods, a small jerky motion, and turns toward the door without looking at me.

“Mr. Nilsson.” Sun’s voice stops me as I start to follow. “A word.”

Nolan keeps walking. I watch him go, watch him disappear down the hallway toward the lobby, and something in my chest aches with an intensity I can’t ignore.

“Yes?”

“I’ve overseen hundreds of matched pairs in my career.” Sun’s voice is low, private. “I’ve seen couples who started with more hostility than you two eventually find their way to genuine partnership. I’ve also seen matches where one party’s neglect resulted in... unfortunate outcomes.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that your omega—your matched partner—is clearly suffering. Whether that suffering is physical, emotional, or both, I can’t say. But something is very wrong, and pretending otherwise won’t make it go away.” He meets my gaze steadily. “Whatever happened between you, whatever grievance has created this distance, I would encourage you to consider whether it’s worth more than his health.”