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“Tired of him already?” Patryn arched a brow and took a long puff.

Saren shook his head. “Not at all. It’s just…you see…,” Saren paused. Dread curled low in his stomach. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, shifted between his feet, and swallowed hard. After several beats, he cleared his throat and admitted quietly, “he has a countermand implant.”

His guardian seemed intrigued. “How was that missed during processing?”

“It’s…not in the standard location.”

“And how would you know what the standard location is, boy?”

He gulped audibly, trying and failing to mask his guilt. Saren gave too much away with his face. An omega trait, he was told. “I read about it?” he squeaked.

Patryn lowered his cigarette, eyebrows drawn together in disappointment. “Humans were never the desired candidate for such implants.”

He’d expected this. Knew it was going to come up because Saren was not a talented liar. Even though Patryn wasn't his father, he was as close as it gets. Patryn would always find out the truth. It was his mastery, after all. Detecting the lies a person would hide behind a smile.

Humans were not the desired candidate. Telex were.

“I sensed the vacancy as well. Before you interjected, I had plans to take the boy quietly and make my own deductions.” Patryn patted Saren’s head. “I’ll take care of this. Say nothing to the boy.” The older alpha squashed the lit cherry of his cigarette into the ashtray.

“W–will you…” Saren hesitated. Last year flashed before his eyes. The lights. The screams. The pain of it all. “Will you put him to sleep?”

His guardian flinched, that usually stoic face softening into something like guarded affection. A wave of regret filled the air, tinging his natural scent. “Yes,” he said softly. “Go set the table.”

“Yes, sir.”

By the time the boy had come downstairs to the dining room, supper was finished, Patryn had left for a meeting, and Saren was clearing the table. They exchanged a glance before the boy stared longingly past him, towards the kitchen. That was all he needed to know. Beckoning his ward, Saren abandoned the mess and headed for the walk-in pantry. There, he found a fresh loaf in a bread basket, some butter, and, from the ice box, a crate of berries, cheese, and the leftover bits of meat from supper. Saren arranged them all on a platter and slid it across the counter to where the boy stood.

Only then did he realize how much taller the boy was. A full head taller, with broad shoulders, albeit thin, and a pointy chin. His nose was too big for his face, too. Prominent and straight, overshadowing his sharp eyes and too-full lips. He was funny-looking to Saren, even though he smelled nice. However filthy the boy was, his pheromones covered it in that wild, smoky scent that reminded him of the world before End Days. Obviously, he had no clue what it’d smell like, only that it might’ve been something like this.

He watched the boy pick up the berries first—a strawberry. His lips parted hesitantly, as if he had never seen fruit before. The food might’ve scared him, but he seemed too hungry, too curious not to try it. As soon as the fruit popped between his teeth, the boy groaned loudly and stuffed his mouth greedily. He was halfway through the cheese when he pointed at the sink.

“Thirsty?” Saren chirped, happy to see him being fed, happy to be taking care of him. Another omega trait they’d tried to cut out of him.

Nodding, the boy tore into the bread, both hands cradling the loaf possessively.

Pride swelled within him when he was gifted the tiniest half-smile as Saren handed over the glass of water. The boy guzzled it, making a complete mess of his filthy shirt. Wiping the drops from his lips with the back of his arm, he hunkered down and finished every crumb.

“When did you eat last?” Saren asked aloud.

The boy shrugged.

“Patryn will want you to bathe before bed. I’ll show you where the linens are.” He turned to wash the dishes, only taking his eyes off the boy for a moment, before there was rifling, then more crunching. Saren whirled around to find him in the pantry, an entire container of crackers upended and pouring into his mouth. “Hey!” he scolded. Those were his crackers. Special ones he’d made with Patryn a few days prior.

The tips of the boy’s ears were pointed and bright pink as they poked through his wild mane of hair. His eyebrow arched curiously, forgetting all about the dishes. Without thinking, he took advantage of the distraction and poked one. The boy growled, spun out of reach, and aggressively ate the remaining crackers with his head tucked.

“Why are your ears like that?”

A grunt. More crunching. Then, a demonic belch. Saren covered his mouth as he laughed into his palm. Now that he was full, the boy slowly spun around, shame lining his features, and gingerly handed over the empty container. Saren took it and said, “Will you be my friend, boy?”

Steel eyes veiled under dark lashes gazed at him. He made no sound, but Saren took his silence as a yes. Happiness shot from his head to his toes.

***

The next day, Patryn came for the boy. Saren had been showing him his extensive journal and knitting collection when the bedroom door swung open. Judging by the look on his guardian’s face, he knew what was coming.

Surgery.

The journal dropped from Saren’s hands and clattered to the floor, the pages bending haphazardly. All the color drained from his cheeks when the boy looked to him for an explanation. Patryn, clearly noticing how fragile this subject was for Saren, took over.