The Trinity Church basement smells like old stone and older secrets.
I've been down here before, years ago, when Dad brought me to my first Council meeting. Back then, I thought it was just another boring business thing. Rich people in suits talking about money and territory.
Now I know better.
The underground hall stretches out like something from a medieval castle. Vaulted ceilings, stone pillars thick as tree trunks, torches flickering in iron brackets along the walls. The Council table is a massive circle of black marble, polished to mirror shine. Thirteen chairs around it. Twelve for the ruling families, one for whoever's getting judged.
Guess which chair I'm sitting in.
"Isabella Sterling." Elder Harrison's voice echoes off the stone walls. He's the oldest Council member, maybe seventy, with silver hair and eyes like chips of ice. "Do you understand why you're here?"
I look around the circle. All twelve families are represented tonight. The emergency session Dad mentioned in the car ride over. Mom sits to my left, Dad to my right. Both of them tense as hell.
Marcus is here too, sitting across from me next to his father. He hasn't looked at me once since we sat down. Just stares at the table like it holds the secrets of the universe.
Dr. Rosewood sits three seats down, her medical bag on the floor beside her chair. She keeps glancing at me, then at her bag, then back at me. Like she's dying to get started on whatever tests she has planned.
"I understand there was an incident," I say carefully. "At the board meeting."
"Incident." Elder Harrison's laugh has no humor in it. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Three board members required medical attention," adds Elder Chen, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses. "Your father's building suffered over two million dollars in damage. The energy signature was felt by every supernatural being within a fifty-mile radius."
"And yet," Elder Martinez chimes in, leaning forward in her chair, "you claim to be an Omega."
The word hangs in the air like an accusation.
Because here's the thing about supernatural society: everything revolves around what you are. Alpha, Beta, Omega. It's not just biology—it's destiny. Alphas rule. Betas serve. Omegas submit.
Except I just blew up a conference room with my emotions.
"I am an Omega." The lie tastes like ash in my mouth. "I don't understand what happened any more than you do."
"Don't you?" This comes from Elder Blackwood—Marcus's grandfather, not his father. The old man's eyes are sharp, calculating. "Tell me, child, have you been experiencing any... changes lately? Unusual dreams? Heightened senses?"
My heart pounds. "No, sir."
"Interesting." He steeples his fingers. "Because according to multiple witnesses, you demonstrated abilities that should be impossible for someone of your supposed classification."
Supposed classification. Like being an Omega is something I'm pretending to be.
Which, apparently, I am.
"Perhaps," Dr. Rosewood says, her voice smooth as honey, "we should conduct a proper examination before making any accusations."
She stands up, pulling her medical bag with her. "With the Council's permission, I'd like to run some tests. Blood work, energy readings, pheromone analysis. Standard procedure for... anomalies."
The way she says "anomalies" makes me want to run.
"Is that really necessary?" Mom's voice is tight. "Isabella's been through enough trauma for one day."
"I'm afraid it's not optional, Mrs. Sterling." Elder Harrison's tone is final. "The Council needs answers. Dr. Rosewood, proceed."
I want to refuse. Want to tell them all to go fuck themselves and storm out of here. But that would just confirm whatever suspicions they already have.
So I sit still while Dr. Rosewood approaches with her bag full of medical horrors.
"This won't hurt a bit, dear." She pulls on latex gloves with practiced efficiency. "Just a few simple tests."
Simple tests, my ass.
First comes the blood draw. She ties a rubber band around my upper arm, taps at my veins like she's checking for ripeness. The needle slides in easy, and I watch my blood flow into three different vials.
"Interesting color," she murmurs, holding one vial up to the torchlight. "Very rich. Very... potent."
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Next comes some kind of electronic device that looks like a cross between a thermometer and a ray gun. She points it at my chest, and it starts beeping like crazy.
"Fascinating." She checks the digital readout, frowns, shakes the device, tries again. Same result. "Absolutely fascinating."
"What's fascinating?" Dad asks, but Dr. Rosewood just waves him off.
"Patience, David. Science takes time."
She pulls out another device, this one with wires and sensors. Sticks the sensors to my temples, my wrists, over my heart. The machine hums to life, displaying wavy lines on a small screen.
"Breathe normally," she instructs. "Think calm thoughts."
Right. Calm thoughts while sitting in an underground dungeon being poked and prodded by a woman who might be a centuries-old witch.
The machine beeps. The lines on the screen spike and dance. Dr. Rosewood's eyes widen slightly, but she quickly masks her surprise.
"One more test," she says, pulling out what looks like a tuning fork made of silver. "This measures spiritual resonance. The frequency of your soul, if you will."
She strikes the fork against the table. It rings out clear and pure, a note that seems to vibrate in my bones.
Then she holds it near my chest.
The sound changes. Gets deeper. Stronger. The fork starts glowing with pale blue light.
Every Council member leans forward in their chairs. Even Marcus looks up from his intense study of the table.
"Impossible," someone whispers.
Dr. Rosewood strikes the fork again, holds it near me again. Same result. The pure Omega tone transforms into something else entirely. Something powerful.
Something Alpha.
"Well?" Elder Harrison's voice cuts through the stunned silence. "What do your tests show, Doctor?"
Dr. Rosewood sets down the glowing tuning fork with careful hands. She looks at her readouts, at the blood samples, at me.
For just a second, her mask slips. I see something in her eyes—shock, yes, but also recognition. Like she's seeing something she's been waiting for her whole life.
"The results are... unprecedented." She clears her throat, composes herself. "Isabella's pheromone signature reads as pure Omega. Her DNA confirms Omega classification. Every biological marker indicates Omega status."
"But?" Elder Martinez prompts.
"But her spiritual frequency is Alpha. Not just any Alpha—ancient Alpha. The kind of soul resonance we haven't seen in over three centuries."
The Council erupts in whispers. Chairs scrape against stone as people lean in to talk to their neighbors. I catch fragments:
"—impossible under natural law—"
"—hasn't been a case like this since—"
"—dangerous precedent if word gets out—"
Elder Harrison bangs his gavel against the marble table. "Order! Order!"
The whispers die down, but the tension remains thick enough to cut.
"Dr. Rosewood," he continues, "in your medical opinion, how is this possible?"
She hesitates. "There are several theories. Genetic mutation, though the odds would be astronomical. External magical intervention—someone altering her spiritual signature artificially. Or..."
"Or what?"
"Or she was never truly an Omega to begin with."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Never truly an Omega. The words hit me like a physical blow. Everything I've been told about myself, everything I've believed, might be a lie.
But how? Why? Who would do that to a child?
"That's ridiculous," Mom says, but her voice lacks conviction. "Isabella was tested at birth, like every child born to the founding families. Dr. Rosewood herself conducted the examination."
All eyes turn to the doctor. She fidgets with her glasses, suddenly looking uncomfortable.
"Well, yes, but... testing methods twenty-three years ago weren't as sophisticated as they are now. Mistakes were possible."
Mistakes. Right. Because covering up someone's true nature by accident is totally believable.
"If Isabella isn't an Omega," Elder Chen says slowly, "then what is she?"
"That's what we need to determine." Dr. Rosewood gathers up her equipment with shaky hands. "I'll need to run additional tests. Cross-reference the blood work with historical records. This kind of spiritual anomaly is... well, it's unprecedented in our archives."
Archives. Like they keep files on every weird supernatural thing that's ever happened.
Which they probably do.
"How long will that take?" Dad asks.
"Several days. Maybe a week. These things can't be rushed."
"In the meantime," Elder Harrison says, "Isabella will remain under Council supervision. For her own protection, of course."
Protection my ass. They want to keep an eye on me.
"She can stay with us," Marcus's father speaks up for the first time tonight. "The Blackwood compound has excellent security. And Marcus can keep her company."
Every alarm bell in my head starts ringing at once. Stay with Marcus? The man who's going to kill me in three years?
"That's very generous," Mom says quickly, "but Isabella has her own room at home. Her own routines. It would be better if—"
"The Council has made its decision." Elder Harrison's tone brooks no argument. "Miss Sterling will remain in Council-approved housing until we have answers. The Blackwood estate is acceptable."
"Like hell it is." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
The entire Council stares at me. Mom looks horrified. Dad's face has gone pale. Marcus finally meets my eyes, and there's something unreadable in his expression.
"I mean," I backtrack quickly, "I appreciate the offer, but I'd prefer to stay home. With my family."
"Your family," Elder Harrison says coldly, "may be part of the problem. Until we know how and why your true nature was hidden, everyone who had access to you as a child is suspect."
Suspect. He's talking about my parents like they're criminals.
Which, given what I know about the future, they might actually be.
"The matter is settled," he continues. "You'll go with the Blackwoods tonight. Dr. Rosewood will have her results within the week. Then we'll decide what to do with you."
What to do with me. Like I'm a problem that needs solving.
Or a weapon that needs controlling.
I look around the circle of faces one more time. These people have known me my entire life. Watched me grow up. Come to my birthday parties.
Now they're looking at me like I'm a stranger. Or a threat.
"One more thing," Dr. Rosewood says as she snaps her medical bag shut. "Isabella, have you experienced any other unusual symptoms lately? Vivid dreams? Moments of prescience? Memories that don't quite fit?"
My blood turns to ice. She's fishing. Testing to see if I remember something I shouldn't.
"No," I lie. "Nothing like that."
But her smile suggests she doesn't believe me.
"Well," she says, standing up and smoothing down her skirt, "if anything unusual does happen, please don't hesitate to call me. Day or night. We wouldn't want any more... incidents."
The way she emphasizes "incidents" makes it sound like a threat.
As the Council members start filing out, Marcus finally approaches me. His face is carefully neutral, but I can see the calculation in his eyes.
"Ready to go?" he asks, like we're heading out for coffee instead of to the house where he'll eventually plan my murder.
"Can't wait," I mutter.
He offers me his arm. Such a gentleman.
I take it because I have to. Because refusing would raise more suspicions.
But as we walk toward the stone steps that lead back to the surface, I catch Dr. Rosewood watching us. There's something predatory in her expression. Something hungry.
Like she's been waiting her entire career for someone like me to come along.
Someone whose very existence breaks the rules of their world.
The question is: what does she plan to do about it?
And more importantly: how long do I have before she figures out that I know exactly what she is?
End of Chapter 3