“What’s the plan?” Diego asks, hovering by the kitchen island. His fingers drum nervously against the marble.
I don’t answer right away. Can’t. The noise is coming back in waves, starting as a low hum at the base of my skull before surging forward. It’s like standing too close to high-voltage power lines. A persistent, unnatural buzz that vibrates through my teeth and makes concentration nearly impossible.
I pace the room, my hand dropping into my pocket, fingers finding the familiar shape of a beat-up silver dollar. It’s not a lucky charm. My granddad gave it to me when I was ten to stopme from clicking pens and annoying the hell out of everyone. It’s a fidget toy, basically. Something to ground me. Usually, I can lose myself in the familiar weight, the worn-down eagle under my thumb. But right now, it offers nothing. It’s just a piece of metal in my pocket, useless against the chaos.
“Rett?” Tristan prompts, dropping onto the sofa and sprawling there like his bones have suddenly liquefied. “You with us, big brother?”
I press my fingers to my temples. “Give me a minute.”
Dane watches me with those unsettling pale eyes of his, understanding without being told. He’s experiencing it too. We all are. But his face betrays nothing beyond a slight tightening around the mouth.
It’s not just noise. It’s a condition so rare that most doctors have never even heard of it. The “static,” they’d called it at the clinic in Switzerland, the only place that had a name for it. A biological decay in the bonds of a mature, unmated alpha pack. A warning system with no off-switch.
We learned that the hard way.
It started with headaches. Then insomnia. Then the buzzing began, a faint hum that grew louder over months, over years. We thought we were going crazy. It wasn’t until Diego collapsed from sheer sensory exhaustion during a board meeting that we knew it was something real. Something dangerous.
Without the stabilizing anchor of a shared mate, our bond was degrading. For five years, we’ve gone on more awkward, high-society set-ups than I care to remember. We’ve met omegas who were perfectly pleasant and betas who were impressively smart. We’d sit across from them at dinner, trying to make polite conversation while the buzzing in our skulls made it hard to hear the waiter.
With every single one, the result was the same. It was like trying to put out a forest fire with a squirt gun. Pointless, frustrating, and we just ended up drenched in the cloying scents of incompatible omega pheromones.
And then Zoe made it stop.
Just like that. She silenced the chaos in our heads.
And now she’s gone.
The static surges again, and I actually wince. It’s worse than before. Louder, more insistent. The contrast with the blessed silence of this morning makes it nearly unbearable.
“We need answers.” I turn to the others. “Dane, dig into beta-alpha pack bonds. Tristan, call the Swiss clinic. Ask if they’ve ever seen a case like this.”
An hour passes in a haze of tense silence and frantic keystrokes. The only sounds are Tristan’s terse, frustrated murmurs into his phone and the rhythmic tap of Dane’s fingers on his screen. Meanwhile, the static frays our nerves. I can see the strain in the set of Tristan’s jaw, the way Dane keeps rolling his neck to relieve the pressure. We’re getting nowhere, and the quiet she gave us is becoming a distant, taunting memory.
Just as I’m about to call it and move to a more... direct approach, Diego lets out a sharp breath. “Wait. I think I found something.” He’s staring intently at his phone, scrolling through what looks like an old, digitized academic journal. “A study from the 2000s. Beta mates in historical packs. Most were single bonds. One beta and a single alpha. But for betas that triggered the bond response with multiple alphas in a pack?” Diego mutters a soft “carajo” under his breath as he frowns. “It says the odds are one in ten thousand.”
Silence.
Tristan lets out a slow whistle. “So our girl’s basically a unicorn.”
“We need to find her,” I say, my voice tight with strain.
“No shit,” Tristan mutters. “But seeing as she literally dove into a cab to get away from us, I’m thinking the direct approach isn’t working.”
Diego sighs. “She was…pissed, Rett. The way she looked at us?—”
“I know,” I snap, then immediately regret it. “Sorry. It’s just... the noise is back. Worse than before.”
“For all of us,” Dane says quietly from where he’s leaning against the wall. “Withdrawal.”
He’s right. She was like a drug. Our bodies had a taste of relief, and now they’re demanding more. Like addicts cut off from a fix.
I force myself to focus. “We need to think this through. Carefully.” The words feel like a lie. My territorial instinct is screaming.Find her. Bring her back.
“I’ll make coffee,” Diego says, heading for the kitchen. “Strong.”
As he heads around the island, I close my eyes, trying to push back against the static. My brain replays the moment when Zoe saw us on the street. The way she literally dove into the first escape route available.
Fuck.
