The conference room was vast, dominated by a table made of a single slab of raw, black granite. The view behind it was a panoramic assault of the London skyline, rain streaking the glass like static.
Two men were waiting.
One sat on the edge of the table, legs crossed, looking at me like I was a particularly interesting piece of data. He was blond, beautiful in a way that probably made professional models curse him, wearing a silk shirt unbuttoned low enough to suggest he didn’t answer to an HR department.
The other stood in the corner, a dark, density-displacing shadow. Arms crossed over a chest the size of a riot shield. A scar cutting through his eyebrow. The air around him felt heavier, charged with the scent of cedar and wet asphalt.
"She kept the folio," Juno said, a smile curling his lips. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a cat watching a bird fly into a window. "Admirably stubborn."
"She’s holding it like a weapon," Mateo rumbled. His voice was a low frequency that vibrated in the floorboards.
"It is a weapon," I snapped, stepping into the room. "Who are you?"
Stephen closed the door behind us. The lock clicked with a finality that made my stomach drop.
"I’m Juno," the blonde man said, sliding off the table. He moved with a fluid, liquid grace that screamed Omega, but his eyes... his eyes were pure predation. "And the mountain in the corner is Mateo."
Juno gestured to the lawyer. "And you’ve met Stephen. He handles the fine print."
"I don't need introductions," I said, my voice shaking but holding the line. "I need to know why I’m here."
"Sit," Stephen said, pulling out a chair at the head of the table.
I didn't sit. "I prefer to stand."
Stephen walked past me and placed a file on the granite tabletop. "Suit yourself."
He opened the dossier. It was thick. It was red-tabbed.
"As of 9:00 PM tonight," Stephen began, his voice clinical, "your credit cards have been frozen by your bank due to 'suspicious activity' flagged by Vance Global. Your landlord has issued a notice of eviction citing the 'morality clause' in your lease, a standard pressure tactic used against Betas who cause public scenes. And..."
He slid a glossy photo across the table. It was my mother’s house in Surrey. A dark sedan was parked out front.
"Vance currently has people sitting on your mother's house," Stephen said. "They aren't breaking the law. They’re just... watching. Waiting for you to run home."
The air left my lungs. "He can't do that. That’s harassment."
"It’s leverage," Stephen corrected, pushing his glasses up his nose. "And legally, you are radioactive. No firm in London will touch you. You are a hull breach in the industry, Rowan, and everyone is sealing the bulkheads."
I stared at the photo. My mother’s rose bushes. Her peeling front door.
I felt the panic rising again, that hot, acidic tide I had tamped down in the dumpster. I was going to be sick.
"Breathe," Juno said.
He was suddenly in my personal space. He smelled of white tea and something smoky, something that hooked into my brain and yanked.
"Vance is dismantling you," Juno said softly, his amber eyes locking onto mine. "He doesn't want to sue you. He wants to erase you. He wants you to be a ghost story they tell junior managers to keep them in line."
"I won't let him," I whispered.
"You can't stop him," Juno countered. "Not alone. You’re a singular node. You have no network. No pack."
"I don't need a pack. I’m a Beta."
"Everyone needs a pack," Juno said. "We want you to work for us."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
