Page 68 of Run Wild Omega

I hate it.

I love it.

I hate that I love it.

“Can someone tell me what’s actually going on?” I ask, trying to sound more put-together than I feel. “Because Mom is doing that thing where she chooses her words really carefully, and I can tell none of you are giving me the full story.”

Silence. Eyes dart around the room. Mom looks at Dad. Dad looks at Daniel. Daniel looks at Wyatt.

Fantastic.

“Someone talk to me,” I say. “Now.”

“It can wait,” Mom starts.

“It can’t, or you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

Mara clears her throat. “Tess, there’s been some… media attention.”

“Media attention?”

“Someone filmed the rescue. A tourist with a drone. The footage went viral.”

The words don’t compute at first. Viral. Footage. Drone. I turn them over in my mind, trying to fit them together into something that makes sense.

“Show me,” I say.

“No—” Daniel starts.

“Show me. Now.”

Mara and Daniel exchange a look. Then Mara pulls her phone from her pocket, hesitates for a second, and hands it to me.

The screen is already open to a video. I tap play.

The footage is shaky, shot from a high angle. I see the mountain—the ridge, the snow, the violent wall of white that explodes across the screen. The avalanche. I watch it consume the slope, and even though I was inside it, watching it from above is somehow worse. It looks so big. So final.

Then the camera zooms in, and I see them—three dark figures at the edge of the debris field, digging. The resolution is poor, but I can make out the movements. One figure pulling, another lifting, a third guiding. And then a fourth shape—limp, pale, being carried through the snow.

Me.

I watch my own unconscious body being hauled out of the avalanche debris like it’s a scene from a disaster movie. My hair is matted with snow and blood. My leg hangs at an angle that makes my stomach heave.

I look dead.

The video ends. A news segment replaces it—the same anchor, the same somber expression, but now I’m reading the chyron at the bottom of the screen.

RECKLESS OMEGA ALMOST DIES: DO UNBONDED OMEGAS NEED LEASHES?

I feel the blood drain from my face.

I scroll. Another video—a panel discussion. I don’t watch it, but I read the headline: “Unbonded Omega Guide Endangers Rescue Team in Foolish Avalanche Stunt.”

I scroll again. Comments. Hundreds of them, thousands, a scrolling waterfall of words that burn into my retinas.

She knew the storm was coming. Why did she go up?

Another Omega who can’t control herself. Sad.