SAM – POV
The rooftop was their sanctuary.
Old, sun-faded chairs. A rusted AC unit. Wind always sharp enough to cut through whatever noise the world was making.
Oliver perched on the edge like he belonged there—like he hadn't just been stared down by five alphas and a venomous omega. His thermos dangled loosely from his hand. Sam sat cross-legged beside him, hoodie sleeves pulled down past his fingers.
Neither of them spoke for a minute.
They didn't need to.
The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was safe.
Sam exhaled slowly, his burnt coffee scent curling in the breeze. Bitter. Anxious. Tired.
"They're going to figure it out."
Oliver didn't phrase it as a question.
Sam flinched. "Let them."
"You don't mean that."
He didn't.
But he was tired of pretending. Tired of the side-eyes and the silence and the way Max looked at him like a ticking bomb. Silas like a betrayal. He wanted to scream, I never chose this. You think I'm hiding a mate? You don't even know what I am.
Oliver leaned forward, eyes steady. "You're running out of time, Sam. And burnt coffee won't hide it forever."
Sam looked away. His throat burned.
"I'm not ready," he whispered.
Oliver didn't argue.
He reached into his jacket and pulled something out—a folded piece of cloth. Black, soft. Sam knew what it was before it touched his hand.
A scent-suppressing wrap.
"Just in case," Oliver said. "You know how Max gets when he's suspicious. And Silas…" He didn't finish that thought.
Sam clenched the wrap in his fist. "They're already convinced we're mates."
"So let them be wrong."
"You think it's safer that way?"
Oliver finally looked at him, no smile, no mask.
"I think it's only safe until your heat hits."
Silence.
The words hung there like fog.
Sam swallowed hard. His body was changing. Had been for months. Too slow for anyone to notice outright, but enough that he could feel it under his skin, in the way scents lingered too long and his instincts flared without warning.
He wasn't ready to name it.
And he wasn't sure what terrified him more—what he was becoming, or what Max and Silas would do when they found out.
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FLASHBACK – Six Years Ago (Age 12)
The forest behind the training compound was off-limits.
Which was exactly why the triplets had gone there.
Max had gone first, steady and sure, leaping over a fallen log like he knew exactly where he was going. Silas followed, laughing as he chased after him, wild and sharp even back then. Sam trailed behind, quieter, more cautious.
They were all twelve. But somehow, Max and Silas had already started to feel older.
Stronger. Louder.
Sam was different. And lately, they were starting to notice.
---
They stopped near the edge of a creek where the air smelled like pine and mud. Silas kicked off his boots and jumped into the shallow water with a splash. Max followed, rolling up his pants, calm and composed as always.
Sam stayed on the bank.
"Come on, Sam!" Silas called. "What are you afraid of?"
Sam shook his head. He hated the water. Hated how it soaked into his clothes and made him cold for hours. But more than that—he hated how their scents were changing. How Silas's had already started sharpening with dominance. How Max's carried the weight of future command.
And how his own scent didn't match theirs anymore.
"I'm fine here."
"You're always 'fine here,'" Silas snapped. "You're boring."
That stung.
Max looked back at him. "You've been off lately. You okay?"
Sam shrugged. "I'm fine."
Max squinted. Sniffed the air.
"Why do you smell like… smoke?"
Sam froze.
He hadn't even realized his scent had changed again. Not pine like theirs. Not spice or leather or even citrus. Just burnt coffee, faint and bitter, like something left too long on the stove.
"It's nothing," Sam said quickly. "Just tired."
But Max wasn't convinced.
Silas climbed out of the water, water dripping from his sleeves, face twisted with suspicion.
"You're hiding something."
"No, I'm not."
"Yeah, you are." Silas took a step closer. "You don't train like we do. You don't smell like we do. Are you even—"
"Silas." Max's voice cut him off.
But the damage was done.
That was the first time Sam had felt it—the shift. The moment he wasn't just the quiet one, or the third triplet.
He was other.
---
Later that night, while Max and Silas passed out after training, Sam had crept to the bathroom and scrubbed himself raw under the shower, trying to wash away the scent.
It never worked.
The burnt coffee always came back.
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BACK TO PRESENT
Sam sat on the rooftop, fingers tight around the scent-suppressing wrap Oliver had given him.
He had been hiding for six years.
And every day, the truth crept closer to the surface.
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