Alehandra Peters had known about prime omegas since she was nine years old.
Not from a textbook. Not from a designation registry pamphlet. From a photograph she found in the back of her grandmother's writing desk on a Tuesday afternoon when she was supposed to be doing homework and was instead, as she often was, looking at things she hadn't been given permission to look at.
The photograph was small. Black and white. A young man — perhaps twenty, perhaps younger — standing in a garden she didn't recognize. He was looking at something outside the frame. His expression was the kind that was difficult to name in a child's vocabulary and that she'd spent thirty years since finding better words for.
Resigned. That was the word.
He looked like someone who had already accepted something he hadn't chosen.
On the back of the photograph, in her grandmother's handwriting: Theo. 1974.
