My omega was hyperaware of every scent around me.
Each alpha who passed made me flinch, my body registering their presence before my mind could catch up, some primitive warning system I couldn't turn off no matter how hard I tried. I could smell them from meters away — their unique signatures cutting through the urban backdrop of coffee and exhaust and humanity like knives through silk. Cologne and musk and that particular sharpness that marked their designation, each one unique but all of them unmistakably alpha. Each one made my mark pulse with something like hope before settling back into its constant burn of disappointment when the scent didn't match.
Wrong, my omega catalogued each one as they passed, a running commentary I couldn't silence.Wrong. Wrong. Not ours.
She was searching for something. For two specific scents she'd already memorized — sunshine-citrus and woodsmoke-rain, the scents of Hwan and Jin-ho burned into her consciousness after even the briefest contact — and for three more she somehow anticipated even though we'd never encountered them. Ocean spray and mint. Vanilla and fresh bread. Cedar wood and approaching thunder. Scents I didn't know yet but that my omega seemed to reach for anyway, like she could sense them waiting for us somewhere in the city.
I hated that she was searching.
I hated more that part of me was searching too.
The café appeared ahead of me like an oasis in a desert of steel and glass, its faded green awning and steamed-up windows a beacon of normalcy in a world that had stopped making sense.
I could see Jeni through the window, already seated at our usual table near the back where the worn velvet armchairs were positioned perfectly to watch the world go by while remaining slightly hidden from casual observers. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that emphasized the sharp lines of her face, and her outfit was stylish and professional — she mustbe heading to work after this, ready to conquer the fashion world while I could barely conquer the walk to the café. She was scrolling through her phone, one perfectly manicured nail tapping against the screen with characteristic impatience, probably wondering if I was going to cancel again.
I stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, just looking at her through the glass.
This was real. This was my actual life. Jeni was my best friend — had been since we'd met in a music theory class during our second year of university, bonded over shared frustration with a pretentious professor who thought he knew more about composition than anyone who'd actually written a successful song. She'd been there through everything since then: my mother's final days, my father's withdrawal, my decision to suppress my omega nature and build a life in the shadows of the industry instead of its spotlight.
She didn't know about the bonds. Didn't know about SIREN. Didn't know that I was slowly dying from soul sickness while my omega screamed for alphas I was too afraid to let near me.
I was going to have to tell her all of it.
You could run, my omega suggested quietly, her voice tired and small.Go home. Climb back into the nest. Hide.
The temptation was overwhelming, washing over me like a wave I could barely resist. My body wanted nothing more than to turn around, retreat to my apartment, and bury myself in the soft safety of the nest I'd built. To hide from the world and the bonds and all of it until the universe got tired of tormenting me and found some other omega to torture.
But hiding wouldn't save me.
Running wouldn't save me.
Nothing was going to save me except choices I wasn't ready to make.
The least I could do was talk to someone first.
I squared my shoulders, ignoring the way they ached with the movement, took a breath that made my chest hurt like my ribs were too tight for my lungs, and walked inside.
The bell over the door chimed, a cheerful sound that felt almost mocking given my circumstances. The smell of coffee washed over me in a familiar wave — dark roast and caramel syrup and the slightly burned undertone that said the espresso machine needed maintenance again, had needed maintenance for months but the owner was too cheap to call someone. Familiar. Comforting in a way that made my eyes sting with unexpected tears.
Jeni looked up at the sound of the bell, spotted me crossing toward her, and her face went through about five different expressions in the space of two seconds.
Relief first — that I'd actually shown up, that I hadn't bailed at the last second like she'd probably been expecting after my cryptic message last night. Then concern as she took in my appearance — the pallor, the dark circles, the way I was moving like each step cost me something I couldn't afford to spend.
Then alarm as she really looked at me, her dark eyes sharpening with the intensity of someone who'd known me for years and could read my face like a book — the trembling, the wrongness that must be written all over my features like a sign announcing my deterioration.
"Holy shit," she said as I dropped into the chair across from her, my legs giving out more than sitting down, the velvet cushion absorbing my weight with a soft whoosh of displaced air. Her voice was sharp with worry, drawing curious glances from the tables nearest us. "Keira, what the hell happened to you? You look like death."
"Thanks," I managed weakly, attempting a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "Love you too."
"No, I'm serious," Jeni insisted, leaning forward across the small table between us, her elbows planted on the scarred wood and her eyes locked on my face with an intensity that made me want to squirm. "You look terrible. And you smell..." She trailed off, her nose wrinkling slightly as she caught whatever was bleeding through my inadequate scent blockers, frowning like she was trying to identify something she couldn't quite name. "Different. Sweeter. When did you stop taking your suppressants?"
"I didn't," I replied, wrapping my hands around the water glass already sitting on the table, trying to absorb some of its coolness into my fever-hot palms. The condensation was slick against my fingers, little droplets running down to pool on the wooden surface. "They just stopped working."
Jeni's face went pale, the color draining from her cheeks like someone had pulled a plug. She was a beta — not intimately familiar with omega biology, not attuned to the subtle shifts of pheromones and bonding hormones that ruled my world — but she knew enough. Everyone knew enough. Suppressants stopped working for one reason and one reason only.
When something stronger overrode them.
Something like a bond.
