Ryon dreamed in cold, blinding flashes. The images were jagged and piercing: white coats, sterile capsules, the sharp smell of ozone — and Min-Ki's young, furious voice calling him a mistake.
He woke with a cry caught in his throat — silent, but twisting his face — and his body burned from within. It wasn't fever; it was pure adrenaline, searing him from the inside out.
Jisong sat by the wall, awake, watching. His posture was tense, coiled, ready to strike. The room was half-flooded with the suspicious gray light of dawn, and a thin mist crept in through the cracks. The air was thick — a suffocating mix of metal, sweat, and cooling blood.
Jisong immediately reached out to touch Ryon's wrist, checking his pulse and temperature — but Ryon jerked his hand away so sharply that the wound in his shoulder throbbed again. Too late: he saw it in Jisong's eyes — not fear, not disgust, but raw, personal worry.
— This isn't a nightmare, Ryon, — Min-Ki's voice cut through the silence, weak but clear, transmitted through the static. — You're remembering the forced creation of yourself. The capsule. The protocols. Your suppressors are completely burned out.
The heat under Ryon's skin became a surge — a pulse of pheromones bursting out like an electric current. The suppressors no longer worked. He was exposed.
Ryon burned with anger at his own vulnerability — angry that he'd let anyone stay close when he should've run into the void and burned alone.
Jisong felt the wave of Ryon's scent stronger than pain itself, but he held on. His fists clenched, fighting the Alpha instinct that demanded comfort through dominance.
— You're burning up, — Jisong said quietly, his voice low and thick. — You have to release that heat.
He moved closer — slowly, like a predator intentionally softening its threat. His hand came to rest on Ryon's neck — gentle, yet firm, carrying the power to calm and balance the heat.
Ryon didn't push him away, though every cell in his body screamed for flight. Beneath Jisong's fingers, he could feel the steady throb of a vein, hot and alive. Their breaths tangled, uneven and shared, stretching the moment into something unbearable. Ryon felt his body respond — not to desire, but to the Alpha's readiness to wait.
When Jisong finally withdrew his hand, the silence grew louder than silence itself — heavy with everything unspoken.
Ryon turned toward him, meeting his gaze fully. There was no mask left — only raw exhaustion, fear, and something that breathed with unbearable longing and acceptance. It was the ultimate system failure — the moment that made him want to live, and to have this man beside him.
— We have to move, — Jisong's voice was steady, but there was a new depth in it. — The cameras don't reach this zone, but they'll catch the heat signature from your pheromones.
— I know, — Ryon whispered. He understood he had become a beacon — one that could no longer be extinguished.
Jisong rose and held out his hand. Their fingers touched — a solid, burning promise — and he pulled Ryon to his feet.
Ryon caught Jisong's scent — territorial, protective — and followed. Now, the Alpha beside him was the network. And this primitive, wordless bond was stronger than any code ever written.