“And if she needs us?” Bash asks.
“Then we’re there,” I answer without hesitation.
He nods, a single, decisive movement. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.” He drains the last of his beer, setting the empty bottle on the counter with a soft clink. “Now,” he adds, glancingback at me, “are we going to talk about the way you’re reacting to this?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I’m not—” I stop, jaw tightening.
“Sure you aren’t.” His grin is quick and sharp. “Just like I haven’t been noticing her too. We’re all dealing with this, Adrian. Some of us are just being more honest about it than others.”
It should bother me. It's clearly meant to make me react. Instead, something in my chest loosens, because Bash isn’t wrong, and I’m not the only one who’s been noticing her. I’m not the only one who let it go on longer than I should have.
“I should shower,” I say, pushing off from the wall. “Early call tomorrow.”
“Smart,” Bash agrees. “Get some sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.” His eyes meet mine, serious for once. “And a longer one after that, if I’m reading this situation right.”
I nod, unable to argue with the assessment. Whatever happened next, Maya was going to have decisions to make. More than anyone should have to make all at once.
As I gather my things for the shower, my focus slips back to her before I can stop it. The way her eyes widened when she saw us. The way she froze like she didn’t understand what her body was doing. And that sound—low and completely unintentional.
I drag a hand through my hair, letting out a slow breath. I can’t stop thinking about the way my body reacted to her.
It shouldn't have happened that fast. Scent matches don’t just happen. They’re rare enough that most people go their wholelives without finding one. And yet the way we’re reacting to her doesn’t feel like chance.
If this is what I think it is, then nothing about today was small. Nothing about it felt temporary.
And the part that sits heavier than it should is the realization that I don't think walking away from her was ever really an option.
Chapter 6
Maya
I swipe my key card at the studio entrance, the small light blinking green as the lock disengages with a soft click. 5:27 AM. Thirteen minutes before official call time. I drop the card back into my pocket and pull out my phone, checking for messages. Nothing from Nadia since last night’s string of concerned texts. Nothing from the ADs about today’s schedule changes. Just the usual pre-dawn silence of a film set in its final weeks.
I swallow the second of Nadia’s tablets before pushing through the heavy metal door. It hits my stomach with a soft plop, joining the first one I took at 4:30 this morning with a glass of water that tasted like metal. The effects aren’t instant—Nadia warned me they’d need time to build up—but I already feel better than I did yesterday. The warehouse’s familiar smell of plastic and metal and artificial smoke isn’t hitting me with the same overwhelming force. The cotton in my head has thinned just enough to think through.
It’s not gone but it’s more manageable now.
That’s all I need. Two weeks of manageable. Then I can deal with whatever is happening to me. The thing that made me purr when Adrian and Bash walked into that room. The thing that brought Elias to the subway station, watching from a distance as I went home alone.
The thing I still can't bring myself to name.
I move through the corridor toward the main set, my footsteps echoing in the empty space. The night crew’s already gone, the morning team not quite arrived. It’s the quietest part of the day, the fifteen minutes between when one shift leaves and another begins. I’ve always loved this time—the sense of possibility, of a day not yet written. It’s when I do my best thinking, make my clearest plans.
Today, though, my thoughts keep circling back to the same moment. The look on Adrian’s face when that sound—that purr—escaped my throat. The way Bash’s eyes widened. The absolute certainty in Elias’s voice when he put a label on what was happening.
An omega.
The word still doesn’t fit. Nothing about what happened yesterday changes the work I’ve done or the life I’ve built, but I don’t know whether anyone else will see it that way.
I push through the double doors to the main set, and the silence is shattered. The morning crew is already here—earlier than I expected, already moving equipment into place for the first scene. I step to the side, checking my tablet for today’s schedule. First scene: 7:00. Main corridor. Tracking shot.
The lighting team passes me, heading for the northwest corner. The head gaffer—a woman with bright pink hair and a permanent coffee stain on her sleeve—notices me and slows, her eyes widening slightly.
“You’re here,” she says, the words somewhere between a question and a statement.
I nod, confused. “Of course I’m here. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She hesitates, then shrugs. “No reason. Just thought... never mind. Glad you’re feeling better.” And then she’s moving again, hurrying to catch up with her team.
