Chapter 57: Two Omega’s One Pack Pt 1
Walter Pov
"Me!" Augi raises his hand instantly, his voice bright with hunger. "I’m up for some pizza. I haven’t eaten all day." His enthusiasm makes me chuckle, he sounds like a child whose parents just offered him takeout.
"Why didn’t you eat at the funeral?" I ask, curious.
Augi shivers, shaking his head as if brushing off a bad memory. "All the food was green. Like, what even is broccoli rice? I don’t need to taste it to know that shit’s disgusting."
"Good thing you didn’t eat it. I did, and it was disgusting. I can still taste it in my mouth. Hence the pizza. I need to cancel out the flavor," Oracle says, steering the car off the main road, taking an exit that doesn’t lead home. Looks like he’s actually going to get that pizza. It’s unlike him to disobey Torin’s direct order, but today he’s disregarded it completely.
"In terms of disgusting food at that funeral, nothing beats that bitter melon smoothie," Oril adds, shivering at the memory. "I had to finish it because some lady was staring at me."
I laugh at their reactions, the memory of the funeral’s disgraceful menu making me shake my head. Who serves an all‑green spread at a funeral?
It doesn’t take long before we arrive at Tiny Food Diner, our favorite spot because of their pizzas. We pile out of the car, stretching our cramped limbs, and I pull a black cap low over my head, shadowing my face to avoid recognition.
The diner greets us with its familiar country theme of barrels for tables, rustic wood walls, and the comforting smell of melted cheese and baked dough. Grandma Bell’s wrinkled face and silver hair appear from behind the counter as she wipes down a nearby table.
"Good to see you all again. I thought you’d forgotten about my humble little diner," she says warmly.
Grandma Bell is the owner, a beta who took over after her husband passed last year.
"We could never forget about you or your delicious pizza, Grandma Bell," Kei replies playfully. We’ve been coming here since primary school. Her pizzas practically raised us.
"Where’s that other one, the grumpy one?" she asks, noticing there are only five of us.
"Oh, Torin... he’s busy," Kei answers with a nervous laugh.
She clicks her tongue. "That one is always busy," she mutters, shaking her head. "Alright, take a seat."
She gestures to the freshly cleaned table, and we slide into it. I take the far edge near the window, Kei beside me. Across from us sit Oril and Oracle, while Augi drags a random chair to the head of the table, avoiding the squashed seating arrangement we endured in the car.
The storm of unease still lingers in my chest, but here, surrounded by my mates, the warmth of the diner, and the promise of pizza, I almost feel human again. Almost.
We order our pizzas and drinks, the familiar comfort of the diner wrapping around us, and while we wait I notice the TV mounted on the wall. That’s new. Damn, we really haven’t been here in a long time if they’ve upgraded to televisions. I blame the girl who shall not be named for that and her damn home‑cooked meals, the ones she probably spit in, kept us away from this place. At least it’s all over now. Things are finally returning to normal.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Oracle’s phone vibrates against the table, attracting my attention. At first he ignores it, his jaw tightening, but the calls keep coming, one after another, until he’s forced to answer. He snatches the phone up, pressing it to his ear.
"Oracle Spade. How can I help you?" His voice is calm, professional, a stark contrast to the irritation etched across his face. I lean forward, my elbow on the table, chin resting in my palm, watching his expression closely. His irritation shifts, morphing into confusion.
"Look, whatever you’re saying is not true. Goodbye." He hangs up abruptly, his movements sharp, almost panicked.
"What happened?" I ask, my voice low but firm.
Oracle’s eyes flick to mine, then away, his nervous look making my stomach twist. "Nothing. Just a crazy person," he mutters, avoiding my gaze.
Before I can press him further, a waiter strolls past and changes the TV channel from sports to the news.
The screen flickers, and a man begins reporting on the weather. But suddenly the feed cuts to a female anchor, who speaks urgently.
"This just in. Apparently Pack Spade has released a statement, which reads as follows: It is an honor and with great joy we would like to announce that we are taking a second omega, whom we have found it in our hearts to love. Please walk with us on this new journey."
No. No fucking way. What the fuck is this? I must have heard that wrong.
"Yes, folks, you heard that right," the anchor continues, her voice dripping with excitement at the new gossip, "the owners of the leading industrial company in the country are taking a second omega. The identity of this omega remains unknown for now, but sources claim it is an Alma’s omega. What does this mean for the first omega of pack spade, and for the state of other packs? If one pack can have two omegas, what’s to stop them from having a third, then a fourth, completely unbalancing our world? Omegas are scarce enough already. Can a pack truly have two?"
Her words blur, fading into static in my mind. The more she speaks, the more the world feels like it’s crumbling beneath my feet.
"What is she talking about, Oracle?" I demand, my gaze snapping to him, the only one at this table who looks like he knows something.
He doesn’t answer. His eyes avoid mine, his silence louder than the anchor’s voice.
"Oracle!" I exclaim, louder this time, my voice cutting through the diner’s chatter of the newly found gossip.
Finally, he breaks. His shoulders slump, his eyes heavy with resignation. "It’s Torin. He’s announced to the world that we are taking a second omega."
FUCK.
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