Page 5 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

They told me the same thing my stepfather had told me for years, that I was worthless and disgusting and not even my own family wanted me and couldn’t wait to be rid of me.

Just like my mother. The thought of her still hurt, even after everything. Maybe more than everything. Because she was the reason I was here. Anger surged through me—fierce and burning and completely useless.

She didn’t even look back, my stepfather used to say, his alpha scent thick with contempt. Left in the middle of the night like you meant nothing. Because you don’t. You never did.

I used to wonder if she still thought about me. If she ever regretted leaving. If she would ever come back. But I don’t wonder anymore... The girl who used to wonder and hope is gone.

But there are some things I learned a long time ago. Hope might get you hurt. Information keeps you alive.

So during my two weeks at Sentinel, I listen. I ask questions, and slowly, piece by piece, I start to understand what Sentinel really is.

They work beyond the law’s reach. They target wealthy, predatory alphas, the ones who buy omegas from trafficking rings that move people across borders like cargo, powerful abusers who hide behind money and connections. Sentinel finds them all. They extract the victims. And then, quietly, they eliminate the threats.

The world doesn’t know they exist.

Griffin, Declan, and Nolan visit me every couple of days. Declan brings me thousand-piece puzzles that occupy my hands and calm me down. Nolan brings me reports on the shelter I’ll be transferred to and practical details about my recovery plan. Griffin just sits with me sometimes. He doesn’t talk or ask questions. Like he just wants me to know that he’s there and I’m not alone.

I watch them, and as time passes, an idea starts forming in my mind.

The day I’m discharged, as I’m gathering my meager belongings and preparing to leave for the omega shelter, I stop at the door of my room. Griffin, Declan, and Nolan are waiting in the hallway to escort me out.

“I want to work for Sentinel,” I say.

The words linger in the air. Declan’s surprise fades into quiet concern. Nolan goes very still. Griffin’s expression doesn’t change at all—which tells me he was expecting this.

“Sophie,” he says, “you’re an omega.”

“No shit, Griffin.” I don’t flinch from his gaze. “But I can still help. I could go undercover. You could train me. I know I can do this.”

“It would be too dangerous,” Declan says. “The kind of operations we run⁠—”

“It doesn’t have to be dangerous.” I cut him off. “I know you have military-grade suppressants. I’ve heard Nancy talking about them with one of the doctors. They mask omega scents completely, right? I could take those. No one would even know what I am.”

“It’s not just about scent,” Nolan says. His voice is low and rough. “It’s about training, Sophie. Experience. It takes years of work before we trust anyone in the field.”

“Then train me. Let me prove it.”

Griffin says nothing. He just looks at me, calmly, as if he can afford to wait forever.

“Why?” he asks finally. “Why do you want this?”

The honest answer is complicated. Because the girl I was before Detroit is dead and I need to become someone new. Because every omega still trapped with monsters like Pack Thorne deserves protection. But mostly, because I have nothing left to live for and I need a purpose.

What I say is simpler. “Because no one should have to endure what I did.”

Griffin’s face tightens.

“Take some time,” he says. “Just a few months to recover and get settled in at the shelter. And then, if you still feel the same way, we can talk.”

“I don’t need to recover.” The words come out sharper than I intended. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sophie.” Declan’s voice sounds soft, which makes it worse. “You’re three weeks out of captivity. Your body is still healing. Your mind...”

“My mind is the only thing they didn’t fucking break!” I meet his eyes steadily. “Don’t tell me what I need.”

“Sophie, it’s admirable,” Nolan says, his tone harder now, with less patience. “You want to help omegas. I get it. But the last thing we need is someone on our mission who is a liability. Someone who freezes at the wrong moment or gets triggered by something they didn’t see coming.” He holds my gaze without blinking. “Other people get hurt when that happens. Omegas we’re trying to save get hurt.”

I open my mouth to argue—and close it again.