Knot The One They Want

Walter’s POV

The next day begins with restless energy, we have to rebuild what remains of spade and it’s hard to do that when Torin is currently not ’take charge Torin’.

The man is depressed.

So it’s up to Kei, Augi and I to try to fix what Lorali has done, by firstly finding Oril, of which we already have. We hired someone to do it and the person worked fast. Apparently Oril was stopped at the darker side of Prone city, where the sun doesn’t shine, working at a dinner.

So Kei and I decided to go together to get Oril while Augi stayed with Torin to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid .

The streets grow grimmer the deeper we go. The neon lights fade, replaced by flickering bulbs and broken signs. The air smells of oil, smoke, and desperation. Homeless people huddle in corners, wrapped in blankets that barely shield them from the chill. Their eyes follow us as we pass, hollow and tired. Even with how bad it is, it’s not as bad as it was a couple years ago, so the government seems to be doing something.

Finally, we arrive at the place the investigator mentioned, it’s a rundown diner called The Rusty Spoon. The sign hangs crooked, half the letters burned out. The windows are smeared with grease, and the door creaks when we push it open.

You couldn’t force me to eat here. We get out of the car and I adjust my cap making sure my face is shadowed after being on a break from my work for so long. The last thing I need is to be spotted here.

Inside, the diner is dimly lit, the walls stained with years of neglect. The booths are torn, the tables sticky. A jukebox in the corner hums faintly, though no music plays. The smell of burnt coffee and fried food clings to the air.

But even with all that only one person truly sticks out to me and that’s Oril. My heart pounds as my eyes lock onto his figure. There he is, my bonded fated mate whom I haven’t seen in so long.

He looks nothing like the man we once knew. His beard is overgrown, his hair unkempt, his clothes worn and tired. His eyes are heavy, shadowed by exhaustion. He moves slowly, cleaning tables with a rag that looks as old as the diner itself.

Kei and I exchanged a glance, both of us shocked. This is Oril, the man who once dreamed of being a singer, who once carried himself with pride. Noway. He looks like a ghost, trapped in a life that doesn’t belong to him.

We approach, but he doesn’t stop working. "Oril," I say softly.

He glances at us, recognition flickering in his eyes, but he shakes his head. "I can’t talk. Not on the clock." His voice is rough, tired. He turns back to his work, wiping down another table.

Kei frowns. "We just want to talk for a minute."

"I said I can’t," Oril mutters, moving away.

Defeated, we sat down at one of the nasty booths and before we could gather our thoughts another younger and bored waiter approached with a notepad. His tone is flat. "What’ll it be?"

"Umm... we aren’t going to order, we are waiting for someone." Kei says, frustration in his voice.

"You can’t wait here, without ordering" The waiter clicks his tongue.

"Fine, we’ll order something" Kei replies with a tight smile opening the raggedy looking menu, my eyes dart from the Waiter to Oril who’s surviving another table "When did that waiter start working here" I ask suddenly and the waiter shrugs following my gaze. "He started working here not so long ago. The boss hired him out of nowhere. Lives in a trailer park down the road."

My stomach twists. A trailer park? That’s where Oril lives now?

The waiter raises an eyebrow glancing back at us. "You ordering or not?"

Kei sighs. "Fine. Two coffees. And... whatever your Trasovokalal is."

The waiter smirks. "You sure about that? The item is very....umm... it’s a lot of drama and really expensive."

"We’re sure," I say firmly.

He scribbles on his pad and walks away. Kei leans back, shaking his head. "What happened to him? He wanted to be a singer. He had dreams. Did he just... let them go because of a fight with Torin?"

I stare at Oril, watching him scrub another table. "Maybe life broke him. Maybe he gave up."

Kei pulls out his phone, dialing Augi. The line crackles before Augi’s voice comes through. "Yeah?"

"We found him," Kei says. "Oril. He’s working at some rundown diner. Looks like hell and apparently lives in a trailer park."

There’s silence on the other end, then Augi speaks, his voice heavy. "What? That doesn’t make sense. Oril wouldn’t just...to get a job. What are you going to do?"

"We’re going to try to bring him back," Kei replies.

"How are things back there, Torin alright?" I ask aloud so I can be heard, "Yea-" before he could finish his sentence there’s a crash in the background. Augi swears loudly. "Damn it—I have to go!" The line goes dead.

"I wonder what happened," Kei says, shoving the phone back into his pocket. Me too.

I glance up and see Oril again. This time, he’s changed out of his uniform. He wears worn‑out jeans and a faded shirt, his shoulders slumped. He’s leaving, heading toward the door.

Without thinking, I slid out of the booth, following him. "Oril!" I called.

But before I can reach him, a band of waiters appears. They’re dressed in mismatched uniforms, holding guitars and tambourines. One of them strums a chord, and suddenly they’re singing, their voices loud and jarring.

The diner erupts into chaos. Customers clap along, the waiters dance, the music fills the air. It’s surreal, absurd, like something out of a fever dream.

I try to push through the crowd, my eyes locked on Oril’s retreating figure. One of the waiters blocks my path, holding up a squealing pig. Why they are holding a pig, I do not know.

"Move!" I shout, my patience snapping.

The waiter smirks. "But you ordered the live presentation of our dish being made."

I huff, shoving past him, ignoring the protests. The pig squeals louder, but I don’t care. I push my way out of the diner, the cold night air hitting me like a slap. I run down the sidewalk, my breath coming fast, until I catch up to Oril.

"Oril!" I call, grabbing his arm. "What’s happening? Why are you here?"

He jerks his arm free, his eyes tired, his beard shadowing his face. "Leave, Walter. You shouldn’t be in a place like this. Not when you are this close to your heat." He says covering up his nose, he can smell it, even under the dissenting lotions. I am very close.

I shake my head, refusing to back down. "I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me what’s happening."

He sighs, his shoulders slumping. "I’m finding independence. It’s only a matter of time before Torin kicks me out. I need to learn to live on my own two feet. That’s why I have this job."

I stare at him, disbelief flooding me. "You already have a job, Oril. Making music. That’s who you are, it’s what you do."

He laughs bitterly, the sound hollow. "Music? I can’t even sing anymore. It’s been years since I actually sang. It’s time to stop living in the past and work like everyone else. Maybe then I’ll be a worthy Alpha to an Omega like you."

My chest tightens. "You’re already enough for me. Don’t say things like that. You’re being crazy. We all know you didn’t tell Yurena to do those things to Lorali. She showed her true colors. She can’t be trusted."

Oril’s eyes flicker, uncertainty breaking through his exhaustion.

I press on, desperate. "Do you even know what’s happening? Oracle is in prison. Lorali framed him for stabbing her. He’s locked away and alone. He needs you, Oril. You don’t need to step up as a mate right now... but you need to step up as a brother. The pack needs its second in command. Torin isn’t in any position to make decisions. You’re the one who has to stand up."

Oril freezes, his expression shifting from disbelief to shock. "Oracle... in prison?" His voice cracks, the weight of the revelation hitting him hard.

"Yes," I say firmly. "And he’s suffering. You can’t just hide here, scrubbing tables in a rundown diner. You’re stronger than this. You’re his brother. He needs you. We all do."

Oril’s hands tremble, his gaze dropping to the cracked pavement. For a moment, he looks like the man I once knew, the man who dreamed of singing, who carried himself with pride. But then the weariness returns, dragging him down.

"I don’t know if I can," he whispers. "I don’t know if I’m enough."

I grip his shoulders, forcing him to meet my eyes. "You are. You always were. Stop running. Stop hiding. Come back to us. Oracle needs you. The pack needs you. I need you."