The question hangs between us, impossible to answer. Not because I don’t know, but because knowing means facing things I’m not ready to name. “What am I supposed to do?” I ask finally. “If you’re right about the timeline, if the blockers are wearing off faster than they should, if being around them is making things worse—what am I supposed to do?”
Something shifts in Nadia’s expression—relief, maybe, or understanding. “First, you need to accept that this is happening,” she says. “Your body’s making the call, not your brain. And second, you need to understand what your omega will need when things get worse.” She holds up a finger with each point. “ A safe enclosed space. Comfort. Stability.” She hesitates,then adds a fourth with a small wiggle of her eyebrows. “And compatible alphas. Plural intended.”
The teasing note breaks the tension, makes me laugh despite everything. “You’re impossible,” I say while shaking my head.
“I’m right,” she counters. “And you know it. The question is what you’re going to do about it.”
The question sits in my stomach like a stone. A line I’m not ready to cross, a conversation I’m not prepared to have.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “It’s all happening so fast. One minute I’m just doing my job, moving through the world without being seen, and the next...” I gesture vaguely, unable to name what’s happening. “Everything’s different. I’m different. And I don’t know how to be this person yet.”
Nadia’s expression softens. “Hey,” she says, her voice gentler now. “Whatever happens—whatever you need—I’m here. Okay?”
Something in my chest loosens at her words. “Thanks,” I say, the word coming out soft.
She nods once. “Now, practical matters. I need you to text me when things start escalating. If you can’t—if it happens too fast or you’re too far gone to reach your phone—have one of them do it. I’ll come immediately. Just tell me where you are and I’ll be there if you need me.”
Heat crawls up my neck at the implication—that things might get bad enough that I can’t text, that I might need one of them to reach out for me, that whatever’s happening is already bigger than I’m ready to admit.
“It’s not embarrassing,” Nadia says, reading my expression easily. “It’s biology. Your body’s doing exactly what it’s designed to do, Maya. The only question is whether you’re going to fight it every step of the way or accept that some things are beyond your control.”
“I should go,” I say, pushing to my feet. “Elias is waiting, and I’ve kept him long enough.”
Nadia studies my face for a long moment, then nods. “Text me,” she says. “Tonight. Let me know you got home okay. And Maya?” She waits until I meet her eyes. “Whatever happens next—whatever you decide—it’s okay. However this plays out, you aren’t alone.”
“Thanks,” I say. “For everything.” My throat is tight enough that I’m surprised the words come out at all.
She nods once, then moves to the door, pulling it open with plenty of space between us so she doesn’t overwhelm me with her scent. “Go,” she says. “Your alpha’s waiting.”
The word catches me off guard. Not because I believe it or because anything’s been decided, but because some part of me likes the implication more than it should—the idea of someone waiting, of someone choosing to stay, of being seen as someone worth showing up for.
It would be easier if I could blame the omega.
But even as I think it, I know it’s not that simple.
Elias is exactly where I left him, standing at the bottom of the steps. He looks up as the door opens, his eyes finding mine immediately.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, suddenly unable to speak. Something’s changed—not just in my body or my scent or my understanding of what’s happening, but in something deeper. Something about how I see myself, my place, my worth.
We walk back to the parking lot together. The night has fully settled now, the studio lot is deserted after the chaos of the day. Most of the crew has gone home, just a few people are still packing up equipment or confirming tomorrow’s schedule. They nod as we pass—the night security guard by the gate, the PA hurrying to the production office with an armful of clipboards—they all give us space.
Elias’s car is where he left it, parked in the employee lot. He unlocks it with a soft beep, moving to open the passenger door before I can reach for it myself.
“I can get my own door,” I say, though there’s no heat in it. Just a statement of fact, a reminder of the independence I’m still trying to maintain.
“I know,” he says, but he doesn’t step back. Just holds it open, waiting for me to make the choice.
I slide into the seat careful to avoid crushing against him. He closes the door behind me with a soft click before making his way around to the driver's side and sliding behind the wheel.
The car starts with a rumble, the interior warming quickly against the cool night air. Elias pulls out of the parking spot carefully and heads for the exit. Neither of us speaks as we drive through the dark streets, the only sound the soft hum of the engine.
It feels... routine.
We’re halfway to my apartment when he speaks. “Any plans for this weekend?” he asks, the question casual on the surface but weighted underneath. “Besides resting, I mean.”
“No,” I say. “Nothing specific. Just the usual. Laundry. Maybe some reading. Nothing exciting.”
