Night had ended — but dawn never came.A gray, milky light slipped through the shattered windows of the warehouse, carrying with it fog and biting cold. Their breath hung in the air like ghosts. Outside, the city still slept, but inside the frozen room something had awakened — something wild, biological, and unrestrained.
The suppressants had failed.Stress, hypothermia, and the constant presence of a dominant Alpha had taken their toll.Ryon's body responded in the way he feared most: heat spilled under his skin like liquid fire, a tremor coursed through his muscles, his heartbeat stumbled, trying desperately to reclaim warmth. He curled against the wall, drawing himself into a tight knot, forcing every breath to stay silent. Shame and fear coiled in his throat — metallic, suffocating.He knew that in this moment he was no code, no Project R-01 — only raw, uncontrollable biology.He was an Omega who had been taught to despise his own nature.
Jisong woke abruptly, as if yanked from sleep by an invisible, taut thread. His eyes opened wide, pupils dilating instantly, absorbing the dim light — and the scent.
The scent.Wet, sweet-spiced, like warm rain over dust — the smell of awakening, of pure, unfiltered vulnerability. It sank deep into Jisong's chest, and instinctively he held his breath, trying to inhale all of it at once. A pulse throbbed in his groin. He understood immediately what was happening.It wasn't just a smell — it was a direct, undeniable summons to his Alpha nature.
He had never encountered it this close, this pure, unmasked by chemistry. His body resonated like a tuned instrument. His canines ached; the muscles in his forearms tightened with the urge to seize, to mark, to claim. It was the raw physical authority Ryon's body now offered without meaning to.
Jisong moved carefully, sitting at the edge of what passed for their bed — a pile of threadbare blankets — close enough that his thigh brushed Ryon's, but not closing the distance further. He neither approached nor retreated, simply remained, holding the fragile balance between them like a wire pulled taut.
He didn't look at Ryon's face — turned toward the wall — only let his gaze drop to the trembling line of his waist.When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough, vibrating through Ryon's ribs like a slow earthquake.— You can just breathe. Don't fight it. I won't do anything… unless you ask me to.
It wasn't a promise — it was a warning.A confession that control was hanging by a thread.
Ryon's fingers clenched around the edge of the blanket, knuckles whitening, tendons straining. He could feel Jisong's gaze on him — heavy, magnetic — pressing down like physical weight on his hips.
Their bodies began to synchronize in the quiet.Jisong's breath — long and steady — aligned itself to Ryon's erratic rhythm, guiding it, matching it. The simple act of shared breathing became sharper than touch, a silent act of dominance.
Ryon felt the heat inside him rising, feeding off that deliberate calm, that slow assertion of control. Something primal stirred within — something long suppressed — a part of him that wanted to yield to that voice, that vibration, that heat hovering just behind him.
His pheromones reached their peak — aggressive in their fragility. It was a pure, unfiltered call that knew nothing but need.Jisong assumed the role of predator consciously — one who refused the attack, but not the nearness.He extended his hand, resting it on the blanket beside Ryon's thigh. His palm was broad and warm, not touching skin, yet the heat radiated through every layer of fabric.
I'm here.The words weren't spoken, but Ryon felt them in every nerve, in the heat between them, in every controlled exhale.
He opened his eyes. His pupils were wide from fever and shame. When he turned his head, Jisong's eyes met his — not with lust, not with disgust, but with a heavy, unwavering patience.
That was the first step toward a true bond — a mutual, instinctive acknowledgment of dominance and surrender, born not of will but of biology, defying every protocol written into Ryon's system.He recognized Jisong — his Savior, his Master — and his body now begged for the control he had once feared.
A quiet sound broke from Ryon — a muffled moan buried in the blanket. For the first time, he failed to suppress his scent. It was both freeing and humiliating.Jisong inhaled slowly, deeply — drawing that living, vulnerable scent into his lungs — and exhaled hard, releasing a heavy Alpha trace into the air: the scent of protection, of command, of absolute control. The air itself trembled between them.
Something woke inside the room — and Ryon understood there would be no return.He was caught.And this — this heat, this surrender, this dangerous safety — was the only place where he felt truly alive.