The overhead lights barely reached this deep, but the glow of Ren's monitor painted faint lines of blue across his face. The IT room was small, airless, always a little too warm - it smelled like melting plastic and stale coffee. No one came down here unless something broke, and Ren had made sure nothing ever broke. It was perfect.
His fingers moved smoothly across the keyboard, rhythm steady, efficient. On one monitor, lines of code danced in sterile white on black. On the other, a message window blinked in the corner of his HUD overlay - private, encrypted, and very much not work-related.
["WOLFHEART has logged in."]
Right on time.
["WOLFHEART"]: "Three minutes late."
["Featherlight"]: "Tsk. I was dodging HR. They're convinced I'm mining crypto in here."
["WOLFHEART"]: "Aren't you?"
["Featherlight"]: "Nope. Just married to the grind. And you."
Ren didn't mean to smile, but it pulled at the corner of his mouth anyway. He didn't stop typing. Everything else - the server hum, the lights, the outside world - blurred into nothing.
In-game, he was Featherlight - a fast-talking, sharp-shooting archer with a smart mouth and terrible impulse control. Married - ironically at first - to one of the game's top-ranked players. WOLFHEART. A brooding alpha-class swordsman with a lone-wolf reputation and a preference for silent raids. Somehow, it had stuck. Eight months later, they were still a team. Still married. Still talking every night.
["WOLFHEART"]: "Tonight's dungeon starts at 9. Don't vanish."
["Featherlight"]: "Only if you promise to carry me over the lava pits again."
["WOLFHEART"]: "Tch. Clingy."
["Featherlight"]: "You like it."
He leaned back too far and winced when his spine gave a sharp little crack. The chair groaned under him. Overhead, the ceiling tiles were exactly as blank and boring as they'd been yesterday. His badge clipped to his shirt - Beta Class 3, just another name in the system - caught against the armrest.
He adjusted it without thinking. It had to look right.
His real designation had never existed on paper. He'd erased that record years ago - well, paid someone to erase it - before it could be uploaded to the national database. Before the system could mark him as what he was.
Omega.
Unregistered. Illegal. But free.
That freedom came with rules. No doctors. No scans. Never lose control. Keep the inhibitors steady. Keep the scent blockers fresh. Keep his head down. Work quietly. No one noticed a tech guy.
Except maybe one.
A knock against the glass door pulled him back to reality.
He minimized the game window in a flash. Luka Vance stood outside the IT room, unreadable as always. Black shirt, sleeves rolled, one hand casually in his pocket. His eyes didn't miss much - Ren had learned that early. Cold, precise, and detached, Luka had transferred into NetSecure's systems division half a year ago and barely spoke unless necessary.
Ren sat up straighter, tapping a few nonsense keys to look busy.
"Yeah?" he called out, careful not to sound winded.
Luka didn't open the door right away. He stared through the glass for a beat longer, like he was assessing something, then said, "Firewall's bugging on Line 231. Ria asked you to double-check."
Ren nodded. "Sure. On it."
Still, Luka didn't leave. His gaze lingered. Not in a creepy way - more like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
"You look pale," Luka said finally. "You okay?"
Ren blinked, startled. "Me? Yeah. Just-bad office lighting. I think it's actively draining my soul."
Luka tilted his head. A ghost of something - amusement, maybe - flickered across his face. Then it was gone. Luka didn't say anything else. Just turned, as if the conversation had never mattered, and walked off down the hallway.
The door slid shut with a soft hiss. Ren stared at it too long, his pulse still annoyingly loud in his ears. That wasn't normal. Luka didn't notice people. Didn't ask questions.
Ren pressed a hand to his wrist, where a fresh scent patch sat under his sleeve, warming against his skin. The suppressant dose was holding, but only barely. Lately, his body had started to fight it - flashes of heat pooling low in his spine, pressure behind his ribs, strange impulses he hadn't felt since he was sixteen.
It scared him more than he wanted to admit.
He glanced back at the game tab but didn't open it. Not yet.
Two more years. Just make it two more years. Then he could disappear, leave the city, start clean. Somewhere without trackers or scanners or government mandates. Somewhere he could breathe.
His terminal buzzed.
A knock again - sharper this time.
Ren turned slowly. This wasn't Luka.
A woman in a grey Registry coat stood just outside the IT room. Two uniformed officers flanked her, their sleeves marked with the red insignia of Omega Control.
His stomach dropped.
"Ren Kael?" the woman asked.
His throat dried up. "I think you've got the wrong-"
She held up a datapad. "Blood scan from this morning flagged you. Hormone variance. Terminal audit. We matched your genetic ID with a redacted birth file. You've been off-grid since sixteen."
"I'm a beta," Ren said quickly. "My registry-"
"Forged," she said, voice clipped. "You've been living as a beta, illegally. You're an unpaired omega, twenty years old. That makes you three years overdue."
The guards stepped forward.
"No-wait, hold on-" Ren backed into the desk. "You don't understand. I haven't even-"
"You're being transferred to Pairing Authority," she continued, nodding to the officers. "Your assigned alpha has already been notified."
"Assigned-what-?" He barely had time to panic before the guards grabbed his arms.
"Don't-please-wait-!" His voice cracked as one of them forced his wrists back into cuff locks. "I didn't do anything! I've never even had a heat!"
"That's what makes it more dangerous," the officer said without looking at him. "Late bloomers bond faster. Stronger. You're a liability without guidance."
They dragged him through the hallway like a criminal.
People stared. Some whispered. Others averted their eyes.
And then Ren saw him.
Luka.
Standing just beyond the mainframe tower, still as ever, one hand resting on the railing. He didn't look shocked. Didn't move.
Ren stared at him, pleading silently. Say something. Do something.
But Luka's expression didn't change.
No surprise. No alarm. Only silence.
Ren's stomach twisted.
He knows.
The transport van was quiet, its interior dark and reinforced. Ren sat alone, cuffs still locked around his wrists. The van rolled forward with mechanical ease. Every bump in the road was dampened, like even the transport had been designed to keep omegas calm.
He focused on the wall. Blank. Featureless. Easier to look at than the cuffs digging into his wrists. He counted each breath like it might buy him a little more time. He wouldn't cry. Not here. Not now.
But inside, he was shaking.
Then - a flicker in his HUD.
["WOLFHEART has sent you a message."]
The neural link still worked. They hadn't shut it down. Maybe they forgot. Maybe they didn't think it mattered.
Ren opened it with trembling thoughts.
["WOLFHEART"]: "Where are you?"
["Featherlight"]: "They caught me. I'm being taken in."
["WOLFHEART"]: "Taken where?"
["Featherlight"]: "Registry. Pairing Authority."
["WOLFHEART"]: "Do you know who?"
["Featherlight"]: "No. Doesn't matter."
["WOLFHEART"]: "It does."
He didn't reply. Just kept looking at the message like it might change. Like someone else might answer it for him. His throat tightened, heat rising behind his eyes.
Pairing House 17 was too white. The kind of clean that felt like it was hiding something. The walls glowed faintly. Everything was soft edges and reinforced glass. Even the air tasted artificial, like citrus and ozone - probably to drown out pheromones.
They scanned him again. Took blood. Verified compatibility.
Then they implanted the chip.
A woman read from a screen. "Assigned Alpha: Luka Vance."
Ren's blood ran cold.
"No," he said, too quietly. "No, that's- That's not right. That's-"
The door opened.
And there he was.
Luka stood in the doorway, sleeves still rolled, expression unreadable. He didn't look away.
Ren staggered back, fury lighting in his chest. "You knew."
Luka didn't respond.
The door closed behind him with a final hiss.
And the lock clicked.