The rain only subsided toward midnight, leaving the air damp and heavy. The company warehouse loomed over the industrial zone like a black rectangle, lifeless, as if burned out from the inside. The metal walls gleamed under the few streetlights, and every step on the wet asphalt echoed. Do-yoon pulled up his jacket collar, hiding his face in the shadow. A familiar feeling of anxiety resided in his chest—the same as the evening he first noticed the missing Omega on the lists. Only now, that anxiety was mixed with something else: a heat he didn't want to admit. The Alpha was nearby.
— Stay close, - Seungho said quietly, his voice low, resonating directly inside him.
Do-yoon nodded. His heart was pounding too loudly, but his body submitted to the familiar rhythm. A step into the shadow. A breath before turning the corner. A gaze catching the slightest movements. The side door creaked when Seungho turned the key. The sound was too sharp. Do-yoon tensed, but the Alpha merely squeezed his shoulder, as if reassuring him.
Inside, it smelled of dampness, paper, and iron. High shelves disappeared into the darkness, with narrow aisles stretching between them. Water dripped somewhere, the sound echoing off the walls.
— It's too clean in here, - Do-yoon whispered, running his fingers over the boxes. - Too tidy.
Seungho silently nodded. His eyes gleamed predatorily in the gloom. They moved along the rows, and every step seemed louder than it was. Suddenly, a dull sound echoed ahead. A flashlight beam swept across the floor. Voices of guards. Do-yoon instantly retreated into the shadow; Seungho pulled him with him. They pressed against the shelving so close that their breaths mingled.
— It's boring here, - one of the guards muttered. - Even the rats are hiding. — Boring? - the other snorted. - When it's too quiet, it means someone's hiding.
The flashlight beam passed a meter from them. Do-yoon held his breath. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like the guards would hear it. But Seungho held him tightly—fingers dug into his wrist, and that touch anchored him to reality. When the footsteps faded, they cautiously moved on. And that's when Do-yoon noticed an unmarked box in the corner. Too clean, too out of place. He slid the lid open. The smell of paper, old and saturated with moisture. Inside—folders. Worn, with stamps he had already seen in closed cases.
— Seungho, - he whispered.
The Alpha was beside him in a second. He picked up a folder, flipping through it. His face turned to stone.
— Inhibitors. Drugs to suppress pheromones. - He turned a page. - And the dates... Do-yoon leaned closer.
— They coincide with the disappearances.
Their eyes met. At this moment, no words were needed. But time gave them no more—footsteps again. Closer this time. Two people. The door creaked open, and a flashlight cut across the floor. Do-yoon barely managed to slam the lid shut and tuck a few sheets under his clothes. Seungho grabbed his arm again, pulling him behind a shelf. The guards moved deeper; the light skimmed across the boxes, lingered on a shelf, but didn't touch them. Do-yoon felt drops of sweat slide down his back. And at the same time, he clearly felt Seungho's warmth, his breath, his hand on his wrist. Too close. Too intense. The guards mumbled something about the shift and left. Silence returned. But now it was filled with something else—the beating of their hearts, heavy breathing. Do-yoon looked up. Seungho was staring right at him, and the look burned hotter than any light.
— We're in this together, - Seungho whispered.
And before Do-yoon could object, Seungho's lips covered his. The kiss was sharp, hungry. Not tenderness—a flash, like lightning tearing through the night. It held anger, fear, relief. And a confession. Do-yoon pushed away first, his breath ragged.
— Later, - he exhaled. - We need to leave now.
Seungho froze. Then he nodded. But his gaze remained as if he wanted to say more. They left through the side door, dissolving into the wet night. Documents pressed to his chest. Their hearts were still sounding the alarm.