Page 48 of Omega Hunted

IRONPINE: Center 14

THE ARCHIVIST: Fuck. You can have that for free

An archive hit my inbox, and I hesitated before typing the next message. What would I give away by asking? The Archivist was a nebulous figure we’d learned to trust with black-op intel in the ORT, but with all this money on the table, could I put Emric Kastor’s name out there? What choice did I have? The Archivist didn’t know where I was, or what I had, so did it matter? This could be any mission request, not specific to Soren

IRONPINE: What can you find on Emric Kastor?

This time the pause lasted much longer, and when the reply finally appeared, it wasn’t what I’d expected.

THE ARCHIVIST: That’s an explosive search.

IRONPINE: Do you have a file?

THE ARCHIVIST: I have several, but tell me something first.

I waited.

THE ARCHIVIST: Is he looking for you...

The cursor blinked.

THE ARCHIVIST: ...or are you looking for him?

I didn’t answer.

The silence was answer enough, and then another message appeared.

THE ARCHIVIST: It doesn’t matter what I send you.

I frowned.

IRONPINE: Explain.

THE ARCHIVIST: Men like Emric don’t become your problem by accident.

A compressed archive appeared in the chat window.

THE ARCHIVIST: Everything I have on him is in there.

Another line followed almost immediately.

THE ARCHIVIST: Read it if you want.

IRONPINE: Thank you

THE ARCHIVIST: Word of warning. Once you start reading about Emric Kastor, sooner or later, Emric Kastor starts reading about you.

The connection dropped.

I stared at the dark screen for a long moment before opening the archive.

There was nothing in there about Soren. No frantic appeals, no calls for information, no whispers that a valuable omega heir had vanished. The Kastor family hadn’t openly acknowledged he’d ever existed beyond the barest references in old bloodline records. Second son. Designation: Omega. A name in a registry, nothing more. There was no mention that he’d presented as fertile, no indication he could carry children, nothing that hinted at the fortune his body represented. Either that secret had been guarded with obsessive care, or someone had scrubbed every trace of it long before Soren had ever run.

Some of the information on Emric was darkly personal: sexual habits, gambling issues, drug use; there wasn’t a stone that hadn’t been overturned, and not for the first time did I wonder who this person who called themselves The Archivist actually was.

Someone we can trust.

My wolf was convinced. I wasn’t sure I was.