Chapter Text
Charles stopped acknowledging his birthday after he turned seventeen.
Celebrating something so meaningless had started to feel like mocking himself. Another year of his life wasted away in this shithole. Now, twenty arrived with the same dull ache in his chest and the same bowl of breakfast porridge in front of him.
He took his place on the long table with the others, heads down, plastic cutlery clinking against plastic bowls. No one spoke unless spoken to. That was the rule, the masters didn't like noisy omegas, especially this early in the morning.
Across from him, Alex’s eyes flicked up to meet Charles’ eyes before flicking back down towards his bowl. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth - one that Charles’ knew meant that Alex was about to say something.
“Happy Birthday” Alex mouthed.
Charles gave the barest shake of his head, but thanked his friend with the tiniest smile. No matter how many times Charles insists that his birthday doesn’t matter, Alex always remembers.
On the far end of the dining hall, Ms Silvia was pacing. Heels clicking against the wooden flooring, sharp and fast. Her voice was low, but urgent, and she kept glancing towards the windows.
Beside her, Mr Binotto stood with his arms folded, scowling. His usual smugness is nowhere to be seen. Now he looks…rattled.
Charles glanced sideways towards the nearest window. A white van was parked in front of the brothel - the kind that they used to bring in a new batch of omegas. He watched as two of the staff loaded it with rubbish bags, packed full and tight. But they weren't using the back exit. They were rushing, careless.
Something was wrong.
“You see that?” Alex whispered, barely audible.
Charles gave the smallest nod. His fingers tighten around his spoon.
Another bag was thrown into the van. This one wasn’t sealed properly, and as it hit the floor of the vehicle, the plastic tore. Files spilled out - photos, paperwork, reports. One page floated briefly in the breeze before a staff member grabbed it, swearing.
Ms Silvia snapped at them to hurry, and Mr Binotto’s face was red with fury.
Inside the dining hall, none of the omegas moved. Years of training - don’t react, don’t ask.
But Charles saw it - felt it - the static tension in the air. The kind of quiet that meant somebody had made a mistake, and now they were scrambling to clean up the mess.
Mr Binotto barked something to a handler near the stairwell - short, sharp, and panicked. The man nodded and disappeared up the stairs two steps at a time.
That never happened during breakfast. Movement upstairs was strictly off-limits while the omegas were eating.
The rules were being broken.
Charles lowered his eyes to his porridge, but he wasn't seeing it anymore. He was counting. Bags being taken to the van, voices, steps. People missing.
There were usually twenty-three omegas in the house. This morning, only eighteen were seated at the table.
His throat tightened.
Across from him, Alex kept his head down, but Charles saw the muscles in his jaw clench. He noticed it too, then.
“Where’s Lance?” Charles murmured without looking up.
Alex’s reply came after a beat too long. “Havent seen him since he went to medical last night.”
Medical. That was what they called it when someone got hurt too badly by a client.
Charles’ stomach churned.
Then came the sound of rapid footsteps - two people this time. One of the senior handlers was walking down the dining hall behind them, a clipboard clutched too tight, lips pressed thin. He paused every few seats, his eyes skimming across the omegas like he was trying to memorise the setting.
Or doing a headcount.
Charles didn't move. Didn't even blink.
He kept his hands flat on the table. Obedient, silent, forgettable.
The man passed without stopping.
Alex nudged his knee under the table.
Something’s happening.
Outside, the last of the bags were loaded into the van. The driver got out and slammed the rear doors shut with both hands. The sound echoed through the near silent brothel.
The van didn’t leave. It just idled, like it was waiting.
Ms Silvia reappeared, this time on her phone, her voice barely held together. She was sweating. That wasn’t like her. Her face was always perfect, pressed and powdered. Now, even from here, he could see the smudge of mascara under one eye.
She paced in tight, furious circles, voice low and shaking; “No, we can’t delay - they said this morning. We cannot be here when they arrive-”
A pause. She gripped her elbow and turned sharply away from the omegas and towards the window.
Charles didn’t know who was on the other end of the line - a lawyer? Another seller? It doesn’t matter.
The panic was real, and for the first time in years, it wasn’t his.
Across the table, Alex murmured without looking up, “They’re going to move us. Probably split us up. Get rid of the records.”
Charles swallowed, “You think something is coming?”
“I think someone’s scared enough to run,” Alex said.
Another handler - this one tall and stocky - came down the hall, carrying a crate full of ID folders and files. Charles recognised the coloured tabs on the edges. Red meant “experienced,” blue meant “starting out” and green meant “trainees.”
“Up” the man barked suddenly, and everyone at the table stiffened before following the order.
“Blue and green group, upstairs now. Grab your things. Vans are waiting. Red group, wait for further instructions.”
The room shifted, chairs screeching, trays left half-full. A young trainee looked like he might throw up.
Charles and Alex stayed put.
Charles’ heart thrudded. He counted heads again. There were even fewer now.
The tall handler growled under his breath as Ms Silvia yelled another command to him before he veered off towards the offices.
The hallway was open.
Just for a second.
Just for long enough.
Charles’ fingers gripped the edge of the table.
“Go,” Alex whispered.
“What?”
“You heard me.” Alex’s voice was tight. “You’re fast, and small, and you know this place better than anyone. I’ll figure something out if they ask.”
Charles hesitated. Every instinct in his body screamed not to move. Not to draw attention. That stillness meant survival. But if he got in that van, he might never taste freedom again.
His hands trembled.
None of the other remaining omegas looked. No one dared to look.
He walked, measured and quiet, towards the end of the dining hall. Then turned down the hallway.
He slipped behind the linen cupboard first - counting three breaths - then he went up the narrow, empty stairwell they had blocked off years ago. But Charles knew where the boards were loose.
Upstairs, the bedrooms were already half-empty. Doors open. Beds stripped.
He continued walking until he reached the staff bathroom and clambered into the tub, still wet from someone’s last rushed shower. He curled under the mildewed curtain.
He pressed his forehead against the cold tile and tried not to breathe too loud.
If they searched- if they noticed-
But downstairs, the shouting was getting louder, the chaos was growing.
The house was falling apart, and Charles for once, wasn’t going with it.
—-------------------
He wasn’t sure how long he had stayed curled in that tub.
The air had grown damp and stale, clinging to his skin like sweat. Somewhere below, the front door slammed. Voices yelled, and tires peeled off.
Silence.
A silence that rang too loudly.
It wasn’t the kind of silence that Charles was used to. Not the charged, threatening stillness of being watched. Not the resigned hush of a house full of omegas taught to disappear into bed sheets.
This silence felt empty.
Like ghosts had finally left the building.
His body ached from staying so still. Every nerve prickled like pins and needles were crawling beneath his skin. He didn’t dare shift. Not until he knew for sure that they were gone. Not until-
Footsteps.
Measured, steady, footsteps.
Charles held his breath.
A voice - unfamiliar, but calm - echoed from the hallway; “there’s still rooms upstairs. Sweep everything.”
More steps.
A hand jiggled the bathroom doorknob.
Charles froze.
“Door’s locked.” someone said from the other side.
“Then break it open,” the calm voice said.
A pause. Then a thud. Wood splintering, Charles flinched hard.
Another slam. The lock gave way, and the door creaked open.
Heavy boots met the tiled floor.
Charles braced himself for shouting. Grabbing. Dragging.
Instead; a quiet intake of breath.
Then the same voice, loud and sturdy. “There’s one in here!”