Chapter 5 Questions Without Answers
Chasing the Truth
The charity gala remained the most talked-about event in the city long after the final guests had gone home.
Every major news outlet carried photographs of Damien Wolfe stepping between Ethan and Victor Ashford.
Some journalists described it as an ordinary disagreement.
Others claimed the legendary Unclaimable Alpha had finally displayed possessive instincts toward an omega.
Social media transformed a few seconds of interaction into thousands of theories, each more dramatic than the last.
Ethan ignored all of them.
Speculation had never interested him.
Evidence did.
He arrived at the National Bond Research Council shortly after sunrise, hoping to spend the day reviewing Damien’s confidential medical history before his afternoon meeting at Wolfe Industries.
Professor Helen Morrison had already arranged temporary access to records normally restricted to senior researchers, though she warned him that many documents remained classified beyond even the council’s authority.
The archives occupied the basement level beneath the council headquarters.
Unlike the polished offices upstairs, the underground records room felt almost forgotten by time.
Endless rows of compact shelving stretched beneath fluorescent lights, each section containing decades of medical journals, military reports, and historical studies related to Alpha, Beta, and Omega biology.
The elderly archivist looked up as Ethan entered.
“You’re the Wolfe researcher.”
“I am.”
The man smiled knowingly.
“I had a feeling someone would eventually ask for these.”
He disappeared into the storage area before returning with three heavy archive boxes and a secure tablet containing encrypted digital records.
“Everything approved for your clearance is here.”
“And everything else?”
The archivist gave an apologetic shrug.
“Still locked.”
Ethan thanked him before carrying the files to a quiet reading table.
The first box contained every public medical evaluation Damien had undergone during the previous decade.
Ethan organized them chronologically.
The earliest report came from eleven years earlier, only months after Damien returned from military service.
Subject exhibits no instinctive recognition toward compatible omegas.
The next report reached the same conclusion.
So did the one after that.
Dozens of specialists.
Different hospitals.
Different testing methods.
Different countries.
Every report described the same impossible result.
No scent recognition.
No elevated hormonal response.
No instinctive protective behavior.
No measurable signs of Alpha bonding.
Only one detail changed over time.
The specialists became increasingly frustrated.
Early reports remained optimistic.
Additional observation recommended.
Further testing required.
Potential delayed response.
Five years later, optimism had disappeared.
Condition appears permanent.
Subject should discontinue repeated compatibility evaluations.
No further progress expected.
Ethan leaned back thoughtfully.
Science usually moved toward greater understanding with additional evidence.
Damien’s case had moved in the opposite direction.
The more information researchers gathered, the less they seemed to understand.
He opened the second archive box.
This collection focused on rare bonding disorders recorded throughout Omegaverse history.
Several conditions appeared familiar.
Delayed recognition syndrome.
Scent-processing dysfunction.
Trauma-induced instinct suppression.
Genetic receptor abnormalities.
Each disorder explained one symptom Damien displayed.
None explained all of them.
Delayed recognition usually resolved within months.
Damien had gone more than ten years.
Scent-processing disorders affected recognition but not protective instincts.
Damien lacked both.
Trauma occasionally delayed biological responses.
It had never completely erased them.
The evidence refused to fit together.
Ethan filled several notebook pages with comparisons, crossing out one theory after another.
By midday, frustration had replaced curiosity.
Every explanation eventually contradicted itself.
It was as though Damien’s condition belonged to an entirely unknown category.
Professor Helen quietly approached carrying two cups of coffee.
“You’ve been down here for hours.”
“I know.”
She placed one cup beside him.
“You look disappointed.”
“I expected inconsistencies.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I didn’t expect impossibilities.”
Helen pulled out the chair opposite him.
“What have you found?”
Ethan pushed several reports toward her.
“Nothing.”
She smiled.
“Researchers rarely use that word.”
“I mean it.”
“Every theory explains part of Damien’s condition.”
“But every theory also fails somewhere else.”
Helen studied the documents.
“You’re assuming the reports are complete.”
Ethan looked up.
“What do you mean?”
She tapped one medical evaluation.
“This examination was performed by military physicians.”
“So?”
“They never included operational details.”
“Classified information stayed classified.”
Understanding slowly dawned across Ethan’s face.
“You think something important was removed.”
“I think military reports rarely tell the entire story.”
That possibility changed everything.
If critical information had been deliberately omitted, every civilian specialist afterward would have based conclusions on incomplete evidence.
No wonder nothing made sense.
After Helen returned upstairs, Ethan shifted his attention to Damien’s military records.
Most contained routine information.
Promotions.
Commendations.
Deployment dates.
Injury reports.
Leadership evaluations.
Damien’s service record was extraordinary.
Decorated for bravery.
Recommended repeatedly for command positions.
Respected by superiors and subordinates alike.
Nothing hinted at medical abnormalities.
Until the final year.
One document stopped Ethan completely.
Its title read:
Medical Transfer Authorization
The page itself contained almost no information.
Date.
Authorization number.
Receiving facility.
Every meaningful detail had been blacked out.
Ethan frowned.
He searched for related documents.
None appeared.
Instead, he found another page marked only with a classification code.
Then another.
Then another.
Entire sections of Damien’s final service year had vanished beneath thick black security markings.
Someone had erased almost everything.
Curiosity became determination.
Ethan requested additional access from the archivist.
Several minutes later, the older man returned carrying another encrypted tablet.
“I’m afraid this is all I can release.”
“There must be more.”
“There is.”
The archivist lowered his voice.
“But it’s protected by military authorization.”
Ethan accepted the tablet anyway.
Perhaps one overlooked detail remained.
He searched every available database using Damien’s service number.
Nothing.
He searched medical facilities operating during Damien’s final deployment.
Still nothing.
Then he tried something different.
Instead of searching Damien’s name, he searched the authorization code printed on the partially redacted transfer form.
One result appeared.
Only a single line.
Project Aegis
The accompanying file refused to open.
Access denied.
Classification level exceeded.
But beneath the title sat one short description that had escaped deletion.
Experimental Military Medical Enhancement Program
Ethan’s pulse quickened.
He copied the project name into his notebook before continuing the search.
Most references had already been removed.
Several database links returned error messages.
Others displayed only blank pages where records should have existed.
Someone hadn’t merely classified the project.
They had systematically erased it.
One final reference appeared buried inside an outdated military logistics report.
It contained only a passing mention.
Personnel transferred under Project Aegis protocols are exempt from standard medical disclosure requirements.
Nothing else.
No explanation.
No objectives.
No patient list.
Just enough information to prove the program had existed.
And just enough missing information to suggest someone desperately wanted it forgotten.
Ethan slowly closed the tablet.
For the first time since accepting Damien’s case, he felt certain he wasn’t investigating a naturally occurring bonding disorder.
He was investigating a secret.
One connected directly to Damien’s military service.
A secret someone had spent years burying beneath erased files, classified records, and unanswered questions.
Ghosts of the Past
Damien rarely looked backward.
The past had a way of demanding answers that no longer mattered, and he had spent years teaching himself that survival depended on moving forward.
Military service had ended more than a decade ago.
Wolfe Industries had become his focus, and every achievement since then had been built upon one simple principle.
Never dwell on what couldn’t be changed.
It was a principle that had served him well.
Until Ethan Brooks arrived.
For days, the omega had asked questions unlike those of any previous researcher.
He cared less about Damien’s inability to bond than about everything surrounding it.
His questions wandered through military deployments, sleeping habits, stress responses, old injuries, and daily routines. Individually, they seemed harmless.
Together, they had begun disturbing memories Damien had long since buried.
He sat alone in his office after another demanding day of meetings, staring absently through the floor-to-ceiling windows while the city slowly disappeared beneath the colors of sunset.
The quarterly reports lay untouched on his desk.
Instead, his thoughts drifted somewhere they had not traveled in years.
“What happened after your final deployment?”
Ethan had asked the question casually that morning while reviewing Damien’s service timeline.
Damien had answered just as casually.
“Medical evaluation. Rehabilitation. Retirement.”
Simple.
Accurate.
Incomplete.
At the time, he hadn’t thought anything of it.