POV: Aurora
I read the email three times before getting up from my chair.
"This time I'm not going to talk to you as Director, but as Noir."
My stomach tightens.
The rest of the morning I work on autopilot. Seraphim's numbers are in order; my breathing is not. The heat comes and goes, milder than the night on the bus, but constant. Lina just comments that I have "the face of a balloon about to burst." She doesn't know how close it is.
When the time comes, I close everything, put away the flash drive, and check my ID. I smooth my blouse as if it were armor.
The elevator to the fortieth floor smells of disinfectant and expensive perfume. I'm alone. Without people, I breathe better. Without people, I also think more.
"Registration. Clan. Name."
The receptionist simply says,
"Mr. Noir is waiting for you."
I knock on the door.
"Come in," his voice replies.
I enter.
Dante is standing by the window, jacketless, sleeves rolled up. His shirt marks his forearms. Part of me hates myself for noticing that today of all days.
"Sit down," he says.
Instead of staying behind his desk, he walks around the table and sits in the chair next to me, almost facing me, with no barriers between us.
"I told you I wasn't going to talk to you as Director today," he begins. "So I'm going to be clear."
I nod. My throat feels heavy.
"You know there are clans," he continues. "You know Valcourt is one and Noir is another."
From the bottom up, they all look the same: old surnames, money, tall buildings. But they don't operate the same way.
"Explain the difference to me," I say.
"Valcourt accumulates," he replies. "Companies, properties, people. For them, an Omega is a strategic resource. If it works, they exploit it. If it breaks, they look for another one."
He says it without embellishment.
"And you?" I ask.
He thinks for a second.
"We're conservative," he says. "Few records, long commitments, strict rules. We don't want a catalog of Omegas. When a name comes in, it becomes a responsibility for decades."
Decades. The word hits me hard.
"That sounds nice," I murmur. "But it also sounds like a long chain."
A shadow of a smile crosses his mouth.
"It is," he admits. "I'm not going to sell this to you as freedom. It's something else."
He leans forward.
"Years ago," he says, "Valcourt 'rescued' an Omega from a public hospital. They offered her support. When she was no longer useful to them, they left her with debts and a record that said she was theirs, but with no one to answer to. She ended up coming to us to break that bond."
"Did you help her?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies. "But the damage was already done. We learned something: it's easy to promise protection when you don't intend to follow through.
Silence.
I look at my hands in my lap.
"What if I accept your offer?" I ask. "What exactly does 'being registered with Noir' entail?"
He straightens up.
"It includes an official record stating that you are an Omega protected by my clan and by me," he says. "No one else can approach you without it counting as an assault on Noir. It includes safe housing, a trusted doctor, a plan for your first heat and those to come. It includes resources if you decide to continue studying or help your family.
Each thing sounds like a new layer on my body.
"And what will 'Noir's Omega' have to do in return?" I ask.
He doesn't shy away from the word.
"Report to me when something affects your stability," he replies. "Accept quick decisions in a crisis. Know that your name will be attached to mine in more systems than you can see. And understand that many will stop seeing you as Aurora Vega and see you as 'Noir's Omega'.
He says it slowly, staring at me.
My throat burns.
"I can promise you one thing," he adds. "No one in my clan is going to use you as currency. We're not going to put you on the table to close a deal. I won't allow you to be spoils.
I lower my gaze. His fingers are intertwined, his knuckles tense.
"What I can't promise," he continues, "is that the world will stop seeing you as a rare piece. This building, the other clans, the humans who smell power... they're all going to have an opinion about you. Registration or not. Name or not.
I feel a strange mixture of relief and anger.
"At least you're not sugarcoating it," I say. "You could tell me that being 'de Noir' is an honor, a great opportunity, a fairy tale."
"Fairy tales have never worked out well for me," he replies. "I'd rather you know where the shadows are before you decide to walk into them."
I lean back in my chair.
"Valcourt also talks about protection," I say. "About 'talents,' scholarships, opportunities. How does their offer differ from yours?"
His eyes harden.
"They buy," he replies. "I'm offering to support. The difference is who pays when things get complicated. Valcourt leaves the bill on your table. We pay it ourselves, whether you like it or not."
A short laugh escapes me.
"Sounds like a good marketing campaign for your clan," I say.
"I'm not asking you to believe me because of the slogan," he says. "I'm telling you how we operate. If you say no, I'll continue to take care of what I can while you're in my tower. If you say yes, my obligation to you will be different, and so will your weight on me."
He looks back at the window.
"I'm not giving you anything," he adds. "Registering you under Noir is as dangerous as letting you loose. It's just a different kind of danger."
Silence returns.
I think about the street, the bus, the guy who got too close to me. I think about Elias also offering himself as someone who "understands what I am." I think about the terrace, my body burning, and his hand brushing my hair away as if my neck were a familiar place.
I look up.
"Then let me ask you something," I say. "Not as Director. Not as Noir. As Dante."
He tenses slightly. It's minimal, but I see it.
"If I accept," I continue, "if I put my name under yours in all those systems I can't see... what do you want from me? You as a man. Not your clan, not the tower. You."