[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 99: Not Eighteen

Chapter 99: Chapter 99: Not Eighteen

His confession explained the way he moved—calm, measured, like someone who had already burned once and didn’t fear the fire anymore. It explained the bite in his voice, the instinct to recoil from anything that resembled a leash. The way he read people, not with curiosity, but with grim calculation.

It explained why, from the moment Trevor met him, Lucas had never felt like an eighteen-year-old boy.

He carried himself like someone older. Not just in trauma—but in clarity. In quiet rage. In defiance that had already cost him everything once.

Trevor looked down at him again. Lucas was still asleep, tucked against his chest like the tension had finally left him. But the weight he carried was still there. Always would be.

Trevor rested his chin gently atop Lucas’s head, his voice low even in the silence.

"You came back for a reason," he murmured. "And I’m going to make sure you live long enough to decide what that reason is."

Because if Lucas was right—and Trevor had no doubt now that he was—then what they were up against wasn’t just Agatha.

It was a legacy.

A system built on ownership, bloodlines, and unnatural control.

And Lucas, for all his softness now, was the blade poised to cut it all down. NovelFire

Trevor would sharpen it. Stand behind it. Die beside it, if he had to, but he would never let it be dulled again.

He pressed a button for Windstone.

The light above the door blinked once—silent confirmation that the signal had gone through. Trevor didn’t move from where he lay, didn’t disturb the weight of Lucas asleep on his chest, and didn’t loosen his hold. But his gaze was sharper now, honed to the edge of certainty.

It took only a minute before Windstone entered.

Quiet. Professional. Already dressed, already awake. Of course he was.

Trevor didn’t speak at first. Just glanced down at Lucas—still breathing slow and even, lashes dark against his cheeks, the smallest crease of tension still visible in his brow.

"You heard everything, I assume," Trevor said softly, not looking up.

Windstone stood a few feet away, expression unreadable in the low light. "I did."

Trevor’s hand moved gently over Lucas’s back, slow and careful, like tracing the edges of something priceless that had nearly been shattered. "Get all the cases," he said, his voice low but firm. "The ones who claimed they lived a second life after the temple."

Windstone tilted his head slightly, already reaching for the tablet at his side. "The anomalous awakenings?"

Trevor nodded. "I know of two. One predicted a structural collapse along the southern canal lines, saving three towns from flooding. Another intercepted a plot to assassinate a noble delegation weeks before intelligence even got wind of it."

Windstone’s fingers moved with clinical precision. "Most of those cases were dismissed. Labeled as delusions, psychological side effects of the awakening process, or temple-induced hysteria."

Trevor’s jaw flexed. "And how many were buried for saying something they weren’t supposed to?"

There was a pause. Then Windstone said, "More than I can count without digging into redacted files."

"Then I want those files," Trevor said coldly. "The unfiltered ones. And I want temple access—records of every ceremony that deviated from protocol. Especially those involving dominant omegas or children removed from the public registry."

"That’s not a small request," Windstone said carefully. "The temple archives are protected by the High Clerics, and some of them report directly to the Crown."

Trevor didn’t hesitate. "Then go through Serathine. She’s trusted enough to request them without causing alarm. If she asks why..."

He looked down at Lucas again, brushing a thumb under his eye where a tear had dried. His voice softened.

"Tell her it’s personal."

Windstone gave a slow, knowing nod. "Understood."

But Trevor wasn’t finished. "And while you’re at it, cross-reference the guards and military personnel who served near the Palatine region. I want to know how many of them quietly disappeared in the last decade... and how many turned up in palace assignments afterward with clean records and forged credentials."

Windstone raised an eyebrow. "You’re thinking this was sanctioned?"

"I’m thinking Lucas wasn’t the only one," Trevor said, his voice cold enough to freeze steel. "And whoever orchestrated it didn’t stop with him."

—

The light in the room was soft when Lucas woke—thin and golden, like it had snuck in on tiptoe through the curtains. For a moment, he didn’t move. He just lay there, wrapped in warmth, heart beating slow and even.

It felt foreign.

Peace.

He blinked against the light, then slowly turned his head.

Trevor was by the window.

The chair had been pulled back slightly, his long legs stretched out, a mug of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other. He looked like something out of a painting—rumpled shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, dark hair still a little tousled. Focused. Sharp. Entirely at ease in a way that made Lucas ache.

He watched him for a moment in silence. Trevor’s thumb moved slowly across the screen. No tension in his shoulders. No barked orders. Just calm, deliberate work.

Lucas sat up carefully, gathering the blanket around his waist. He cleared his throat once—soft, uncertain.

Trevor looked up instantly.

"Morning," he said, his voice low but warm. He set the coffee down on the windowsill without hesitation. "You slept straight through."

Lucas nodded, eyes flicking to the still-steaming mug. "You’ve been up a while."

Trevor smiled. "Couldn’t sleep. I had things to check. People to terrorize."

Lucas huffed. "Productive morning, then."

"You have no idea."

Lucas rubbed a hand over his face, hesitating for a second longer before swinging his legs off the bed. The floor was cool under his feet, the marble polished to a shine he didn’t dare disturb. The silence stretched—comfortable but fragile, like glass still cooling.

He crossed the room slowly, barefoot, a little unsure.

Trevor didn’t move from his seat.

Lucas stopped just beside him, eyes focused somewhere near the window, but not quite. Then, quietly:

"Why did you believe me?"

Trevor looked up.

Lucas didn’t meet his gaze. "You didn’t laugh. You didn’t question it. You just... accepted it. Even when I told you things that sound impossible."

Trevor was quiet for a moment. The sound of the tablet screen dimming was the only interruption between them.

Then he said, "Because you spoke like someone who had nothing left to prove."

Lucas blinked.

Trevor leaned back in his chair slightly. "I’ve worked with liars. Spies. Diplomats. People who could conjure fake grief on command. But none of them ever carried it like you do. Quiet. Heavy. Like it’s stitched into the skin."

Lucas swallowed.

"I believed you," Trevor continued, "because everything in me told me that not believing you would be a mistake. And because I’ve seen worse truths buried behind prettier lies."

Lucas let out a breath—something between relief and weight, something he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in his chest.

Trevor tilted his head. "But mostly?"

Lucas glanced at him.

"You were right," Trevor said softly. "You never felt eighteen. You walked in with the eyes of someone who had already lost everything and still chose to live. I don’t need proof for that. I just need you."

Lucas pressed a hand to the back of his neck, trying to will away the sudden heat in his face. "That’s unfair. You can’t just say things like that before I’ve had breakfast."

Trevor grinned, rising to his feet. "Too bad. You married this."

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Briefly considering divorce."

Trevor kissed his temple before he could move. "You’d miss me."