FORTY-NINE #3
She swallows hard then. Her face is too pale and she wobbles only slightly, but she doesn’t stop. She won’t, not until she’s good and ready.
“You don’t get to command anymore. You don’t get keys. You don’t get radios. You don’t get access to Omegas, Betas, Alphas, medical, gates, research, patrol routes, or anyone too scared to tell you no.”
Valeria nods. “Done.”
Hale’s face drains.
Dakota looks past him to the senior officers and council members under the awning.
“And if any of you helped him, covered for him, agreed with him, or looked the other way because his scary little speeches made theft sound like just a side hazard, then you get the same treatment.”
The courtyard goes so quiet even the wind seems to pause like it’s awkwardly waiting for the right moment to pass by an argument it wasn’t invited to avoid.
One council member pales.
Interesting.
Valeria notices.
Even more interesting.
Dakota keeps going. “You and anyone who helped you stand trial in front of the compound. Not a closed room. Not command handling its own betrayal in private, where no one else can hear it. Everyone here can listen to what you did. Everyone hears why. Then they can decide whether or not you rot in a cell, get exiled, or get handed to the families of everyone Vector took.”
The courtyard erupts then.
Voices.
Fury.
Fear.
Names.
Someone starts crying.
Someone else shouts that their sister disappeared two months ago near the quarry.
Another voice says an Omega went missing from the east road.
Vector’s cages aren’t just a theory anymore. They had ghosts, and some of those ghosts had names.
Hale looks around as the compound starts turning on him. Finally. Fucking finally. Valeria raises a hand, and her guards close around him. “Until trial, he remains contained.”
Hale only struggles once. “You’re making a mistake. She cannot be allowed to decide for everyone.”
Dakota sags slightly and I reach out to her. This time, she lets me take her hand. Her fingers are cold, but still fierce.
She looks at Hale one last time and smiles at him. That one is full of pity, hatred, and something beautiful I lock away in the vault of my memories. “I’m not deciding for everyone. I’m deciding for me.”
Hale is dragged back toward command then, and the crowd doesn’t part willingly or kindly. Good. He deserves to feel every stare. He deserves to understand that power only looks permanent until the room stops kneeling at your feet.
Dakota’s grip tightens around mine, then loosens.
“Medical. Now,” Mercer says, already moving.
Dakota groans. “Oh, come on, man. I made a speech. I deserve a cookie or something.”
“You need fluids,” Mercer argues.
“Cookie-shaped fluids,” she tries and I almost laugh.
“Dakota.”
“What? Soup exists for a reason.”
Ellis shifts her medical bag higher on her shoulder. “If she says cookie or soup one more time, I’m going to start sedating everyone standing in this courtyard.”
Dakota’s eyes narrow on the fiery redhead. “Can she do that?”
Mercer sighs. “No.”
Ellis says nothing at all, which is seriously the least comforting thing she’s ever done.
I crouch in front of Dakota when she lowers herself messily to the step. “Come on, Tiny Terror. Let the man stab you with some helpful needles.”
Her eyes crack open after closing without her really meaning to. “Why did you make that sound so romantic?”
“I’m Welsh,” I tell her. “We can make anything sound as tragic and as damp as the weather. Just wait ’til you hear my sonnet about Tetley tea.”
Her mouth curves, a tiny and exhausted thing, but it’s there. It’s still there and it’s gorgeous.
Maine pulls her back into his side and huffs a broken laugh into her hair. Fletcher bends and presses his mouth to the top of her hat, eyes closed. Kaito touches two fingers to the inside of her wrist, counting her pulse like a prayer.
Xeon stands close, silent as ever, and Dakota’s gaze drifts to him. Something passes between them that isn’t mine to name. It’s not heat or need, but something quieter. Unfinished.
Xeon tilts his head like a promise without the words.
Not yet.
Soon, maybe.
But not here.
Not while the whole compound watches.
Not while she’s barely upright and still fighting off a truckload of drugs.
Good. He gets it.
Dakota exhales and leans, just slightly, into the hand of mine she holds.
The courtyard is still full of noise, with Valeria still barking orders and guards moving around.
Mercer is muttering about stubborn patients and preventable shock.
Ellis is already snapping at people to clear a path like she was born from a medical bag and pure offense.
Hale’s faction is being dragged out of corners one by one.
And Dakota sits at the center of it all, bloody and shaking and refusing to become a symbol anyone else gets to define.
She’s not a cure. She’s not a womb, a miracle, or an asset. And she’s not humanity’s apology wrapped in an Omega shell.
She’s a person.
She’s ours because she chose us.
Hers before she chose anyone at all.
I squeeze her fingers gently and say, “You did it.”
Her eyes have closed again, and they stay that way as she whispers, “Nah. We’re doing it.”
Then she passes the fuck out. I mean, of course she does, because she’s a dramatic little menace.
Mercer swears and Maine panics. Fletcher simply scoops her up before she can fall sideways. Kaito starts issuing instructions so calmly that half the courtyard obeys him by accident. Hell, I fucking would too, because that man can be a creepy bastard when he’s calm and in control sometimes.
Ellis appears at Fletcher’s side like a very angry bat. “Medical room. Now. If anyone asks another question before I say so, I’ll remove something they were hoping to keep. Get it? Got it? Good.”
Fletcher doesn’t argue.
Literally no one argues.
Smart crowd out here.
Xeon walks next to Fletcher, one hand hovering near Dakota’s hat, not touching until Maine nods.
And me? I follow with her blood drying on my hands, my broken headphones still wrapped around my neck, and her words ringing through the compound behind us.
Survival can’t mean ownership.
Not anymore.
Not here.
Not her.
Never again.