Chapter 156: I didn’t deserve to die yet.
The words blinked softly against the screen, steady in their heartbreak. ’They left me to die. Then I awoke, and all I could think about was how desperate I was when I realized I didn’t deserve to die yet.’
Trevor exhaled, slow and ragged. The kind of breath that didn’t bring relief only made space for more fury to settle. His fingers flexed once on the edge of the tablet, the weight of it nothing compared to the guilt pressing against his spine.
Lucas didn’t beg. He didn’t curse. He hadn’t even written in anger. Just quiet, terrible desperation that no one had witnessed.
Or, worse, that some had seen but turned away anyway.
Trevor reached for Lucas without thinking, gently brushing through the pale strands of hair at the crown of his head, taking care not to wake him. Lucas stirred faintly but did not awaken; he remained curled close, trusting him enough to sleep fearlessly.
And that trust...
That trust made Trevor want to burn down kingdoms.
He looked back at the screen.
’I didn’t deserve to die yet.’
Trevor had fought in wars, stood before men who ordered executions with a flick of the wrist, and looked into the eyes of warlords who believed cruelty was a form of strategy. He had witnessed monsters in boardrooms and on battlefields, men who razed towns and left with medals. And yet, they had died cleaner, simpler deaths. Received more mercy than a young man who had committed no crime other than being born in the wrong type of rare. The only difference was Lucas had been a dominant omega, which made him valuable. This made him disposable.
Trevor let his head fall back against the headrest, his eyes tracing the grooves of the ceiling above. The tablet rested on his lap, but for a moment he didn’t look at it. Couldn’t. Not because he was afraid, but because he needed to cool the rising heat in his chest before it boiled over.
There was more to read. Dozens of entries, maybe more. But the tone had changed after the first. The following memories were more structured, more data than diary. Lucas had organized them like case files, separating facts from feelings with painful discipline. The first entries had the weight of raw recollection, fragmented and emotionally threadbare, but as Trevor read further, the structure became clearer. Paragraphs gave way to bullet points, dates emerged, and each file began to resemble evidence rather than memory.