The Omega Mated To The Four

Chapter 50

The Omega: Mated To The Four

Chapter Fifty

I stepped into my room, the door clicking shut softly behind me. The space was larger than I had expected, with high ceilings and wide windows that allowed the glow of the evening light to filter in. The room was furnished with a large bed draped in silver and midnight-blue sheets, a polished oak desk, a small sitting area with two cushioned chairs, and a wardrobe tucked into one corner.

It was strange to think of this as mine, even temporarily. The lavish setting was far removed from the simple comforts of my cabin. For a moment, I stood in the center of the room, unsure where to begin.

My bag sat at my feet, and I knelt to open it, pulling out the few belongings I had brought along. I handled each item with care, placing them on the desk or hanging them in the wardrobe. When I reached the bottom of the bag, my fingers brushed against a soft fabric that made me pause.

It was one of Mariah's sweaters, folded neatly. The faint scent of her lingered on it-lavender and pine. My chest tightened as I held it close, the memories of her friend rushing back like an unforgiving tide.

"I brought you with me," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll find the keystone, Mariah. I'll make this right."

Fighting the sting of tears, I placed the sweater on my bed, smoothing it out with trembling hands. I arranged a few keepsakes I had brought: A scarf, a locket Mariah had kept by her bedside, and a journal I had found while searching her room. Including other things like a small photo of me and Mariah from years ago, a beaded bracelet Mariah had given me on my 10th birthday, and a small

vial of scented oil Mariah used to love.

Needing a distraction, I moved to the window. I pulled back the heavy velvet curtains and looked down at the courtyard below. What I saw surprised me.

broomsticks or wearing pointed hats, as I might have expected from old

were gliding across the stone pathways on hoverboards, others

like hybrids of

courtyard was alive with activity-witches of all ages hurrying from one place to another, their robes trailing behind them. Small bursts of magic

replayed the nightmarish image of Mariah

fault," I whispered to myself, gripping the

hum of activity below ground me. Eventually, the weight of the day

decided a

spacious shower with intricate

tense muscles. For a moment,

image came back. Mariah's broken body. The blood. The mocking laughter that had twisted her voice into something

tiled wall for support. My heart raced, and the lump in my throat

louder this time as if saying it would make it

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Chapter Fifty

doubt crept in anyway. Could I have done more? Should I have been stronger, faster,

myself to focus on the present. The water was real. The steam was real. I was alive, and