"You noticed that?" I couldn't hide my surprise, twisting slightly to look up at him.
"I notice everything about you." Jae-won's voice was low, meant just for me, his dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "It's becoming a problem."
"A problem?" I echoed, tilting my head into his touch.
"I'm supposed to be the pack alpha." Jae-won's lips twitched with something like self-deprecating humor, though his eyes remained serious. "Watching over everyone. But lately all I can see is you."
Before I could respond to that — and I definitely needed to respond to that — he was stepping back, his hand leaving my neck, all business again.
"Come on. Bed." Jae-won's voice shifted back to pack alpha mode as he moved to the couch, gently shaking Hwan awake with a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone. Nest. Now."
The next few minutes were a blur of sleepy alphas shuffling toward the nest room, of brushing teeth and changing into sleep clothes and collapsing into the pile of blankets and pillows that had become home.
I ended up in the middle again, surrounded by warmth and scent and the steady rhythm of five heartbeats.
Home,my omega murmured, settling deep and content.Pack. Complete. Safe.
Jin-ho was behind me, his arm around my waist, his breath warm against my neck. The song we'd written together played on loop in my head, fragments of melody and words weaving through my drowsy thoughts.
"Thank you." Jin-ho murmured against my hair, so quiet I almost didn't hear it, his arm tightening around me. "For today. For understanding."
"Thank you for sharing it with me." I whispered back, my hand finding his where it rested against my stomach. "The music. The real you." His arm tightened around me, and I felt the bond between us pulse with something warm and content. The last thing I heard before sleep took me was the soft sound of my own omega purring, vibrating through my chest like a song of its own.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
KEIRA
I'd seen SIREN perform before. Everyone had. Their music videos had millions of views, their concert footage played on loop across social media, their choreography was copied by fans worldwide. I'd watched them dance on screens, studied their movements while writing lyrics meant to match their energy.
I'd never seen them like this.
The practice room was massive — floor-to-ceiling mirrors on one wall, the other walls lined with speakers that pumped out a bass so deep I felt it in my chest. The lights were harsh and fluorescent, nothing like the dramatic stage lighting of their performances. This was the raw, unglamorous reality of what they did.
It was breathtaking.
"You can sit there." Min-jun pointed to a small couch pushed against the wall, slightly separated from the main floor space, his voice gentle as always. "We usually run through the full set a few times. It might take a while."
"I don't mind." I settled onto the couch, drawing my knees up and wrapping my arms around them, already feeling the anticipation building in my chest. "I like watching."
Min-jun's smile was soft, a little shy. "It's different from the finished product." Min-jun warned, his hand finding my shoulder and squeezing briefly, warmth seeping through the fabric of my shirt. "Messier. We make mistakes."
"That's what I want to see." I said, and meant it, meeting his eyes with a certainty that surprised even me. "The real version."
Something flickered in his expression — surprise, maybe, or gratitude — before Jae-won's voice cut across the room.
"Places, everyone." Jae-won called out, already moving to his starting position, his voice carrying that natural authority that made everyone listen, his broad shoulders squared with purpose. "Full run-through. No stopping unless someone's injured."
"Dramatic as always." Tae-min muttered, but he was grinning as he jogged to his spot, shaking out his limbs with restless energy, his whole body practically vibrating with anticipation.
"It's not dramatic if it's efficient." Jae-won countered, settling into a ready stance that somehow looked both relaxed and coiled with potential energy, his eyes meeting mine briefly across the room before snapping back to focus. "You ready to see what we do?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Jin-ho moved to the laptop connected to the sound system, his fingers flying over the keys with practiced ease. "Starting from the top." Jin-ho announced, his voice clipped and professional in a way I rarely heard from him, the producer taking over from the quiet alpha I'd come to know. "Title track first."
The opening notes filled the room — the same song he'd played me last night, but now pumping through speakers powerful enough to rattle my bones. And then they moved.
It wasn't dancing. It was something else entirely.
