Sharp.
Real.
My eyes fly open, pupils dilating so hard the room goes slightly unfocused. My lungs seize as scent floods my senses with brutal intensity—alpha, alpha, alpha, layered and distinct, rich with detail.
Panic floods me instantly.
"No," I whisper, voice trembling. "No—"
Finn's hand strokes my hair. "Vee, it's okay—"
It is not okay.
Because my omega instincts surge toward the scent like a starving thing. My body reacts without permission, heat deepening,craving sharpening.
And at the same time, terror slams into me.
I don't understand why I can smell them like this.
I don't understand why it's so strong.
I don't understand why my body is screaming recognition.
Then it happens.
A flare deep in my chest—hot, bright, unmistakable.
Bond.
Not the gentle, growing thread I always imagined.
This is a spark thrown into gasoline.
It ignites violently, pain and heat and recognition colliding into something that makes me gasp and then scream.
Because I know.
I know with bone-deep certainty.
Malcolm.
Alex.
My scent matches.
Both of them.
If Finn was an alpha, he'd be a match too.
The realization isn't relief.
It's horror.
My body surges toward them like it's been waiting its whole life for this moment.
And my mind recoils.
Because it doesn't make sense.
