The Inspectors

The day began like any other, with the stale silence of the house and the heavy tread of Kevin’s boots against the floorboards. The smell of last night’s ale still lingered in the air, and Jane moved quietly through the kitchen, setting a pot of water to boil. Elias sat at the table with one of her tattered books, his thin fingers tracing the faded lines of print. He read under his breath, so softly that only Jane, leaning close, could hear the lilting rhythm of his voice.

For a moment, the world was still. For a moment, Jane could almost believe they were safe.

And then came the knock.

Three sharp raps at the door. Not hurried like a neighbor, not tentative like a beggar. Purposeful. Measured. Heavy with authority.

Kevin rose at once. Jane’s heart stumbled in her chest. Elias looked up from his book, his brow furrowing.

On the threshold stood three women, all older, their faces marked not with gentleness but with discipline. Their postures were straight, their expressions stripped of softness. They were omegas, yes, but not like Jane. Their eyes were hard, their presence austere. They carried themselves with the weight of those who judged and were not judged in return.

The inspectors.

Every child in the city whispered of them. They were the hands of the Registry, the silent watchers who measured the worth of omega children as they approached maturity. They decided which were fit for nobles, which for merchants, which for the lowest bidders—and which would be discarded entirely.

Kevin’s mouth curled into something close to a smile. “Welcome,” he said with faked politeness. “You’ll find my boy to be of fine quality. Already blooming at thirteen. Strong bloodline. Good training.”

Elias’s stomach twisted. Quality?

---

The women did not waste words. They moved into the house with the cool detachment of those accustomed to command. Their boots struck the floor in a steady rhythm as they set their ledgers on the table. One of them, her hair iron-gray and scraped tightly back, spoke without looking up.

“Bring him down.”

Elias froze at the top of the stairs. His palms dampened, his heartbeat fluttering like a trapped bird. Jane’s lips parted, but Kevin’s glare cut her into silence before she could protest.

“Elias!” Kevin barked.

The boy descended slowly, each step a weight. His bare feet whispered against the wood. The women’s eyes followed him like cold hands on his skin.

“Strip him.”

The command landed like a whip.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Elias’s face flushed hot, shame burning down his neck. His hands clenched at his sides. But Kevin’s hand was already at his shoulder, shoving him forward.

“Do as you’re told,” he hissed.

Jane’s face drained of color. She turned her head, her nails digging into her palms until the skin split. But she said nothing. To resist was to invite punishment—not just for her, but for Elias.

Piece by piece, his clothing was taken. The room blurred around him, sounds muffled, as though he were underwater. He stood exposed beneath their hard gazes, his skin prickling with humiliation.

They did not see him. They saw a product.

One lifted strands of his hair, testing its softness.

Another pinched at the flesh of his arms, his waist, his thighs, noting the suppleness of his body.

A third forced his jaw open, peering at his teeth with the disinterest of a horse trader.

They pressed fingers against his ribs, turned his face side to side, made him walk, made him bow, made him kneel.

Every motion was cataloged. Every feature reduced to words scratched in ink.

“Delicate bone structure.”

“Unblemished skin.”

“Pleasing voice.”

“Posture needs correction—trainable.”

Elias kept his eyes fixed on the floor. His vision blurred with tears he refused to let fall. His chest ached with the effort of silence. He felt less than human, a thing of flesh to be measured, prodded, valued.

Jane’s throat ached with unshed screams. Silent tears slid down her face, her hands trembling so violently she had to clutch her skirts to still them. Every instinct begged her to move, to snatch him back, to shield him with her own body. But she could not. Her love was no shield—only a fragile whisper against the storm.

Kevin, meanwhile, stood with his arms crossed, his pride swelling with every approving note the women spoke. His son was a commodity, a promise of wealth and status, and he basked in it.

At last, the inspectors closed their ledgers. The iron-gray woman gave a single nod.

“He’ll do well. Keep him healthy. Discipline him further. When the time comes, he’ll fetch a high price.”

The words rang like a sentence.

---

When they left, the silence in the house was suffocating. Kevin strutted away, muttering to himself about profit and worth. Jane crumpled against the wall, pressing her hands over her mouth to smother her sobs.

Elias bent to gather his discarded clothes with shaking fingers. His skin still crawled from their touch. His breath came shallow and uneven. He dressed as quickly as his trembling hands allowed, his body folding in on itself as though he could shrink into nothing.

---

That night, when darkness cloaked the house, Elias slipped into his mother’s room. He climbed into her lap as he had when he was small. His face was blotchy from humiliation, his eyes red and swollen. Jane wrapped her arms around him at once, pulling him close, her lips pressing into his hair.

For a long time, neither spoke. Only the sound of Jane’s uneven breathing filled the room.

Then Elias’s voice, small but steady, broke the silence.

“Don’t lose hope yet, Mama,” he whispered, clutching at her dress with thin fingers. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

Jane broke then. Her tears fell freely into his hair. She rocked him gently, as she had when he was a baby, her heart torn between pride and despair.

Because in that moment, Elias was not only her child. He was her miracle—still clinging to light, even in a world determined to chain him.

And for the first time, Jane wondered if perhaps his light might be stronger than the darkness after all.

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