POV: Daelen Pryce
Daelen didn't wait for an invitation.
The moment Irian replied I'm home, he grabbed his jacket, keys, and went straight out into the night. The city was slick with rain, neon lights smearing across the wet pavement, but all Daelen could feel was the restless satisfaction curling in his chest.
Step one had been easy. Now came the fun part.
By the time he reached Irian's building, his pulse was steady, controlled. He wasn't nervous—Daelen Pryce didn't get nervous. What he felt was anticipation, sharp and electric, like standing on the edge of a cliff before the jump.
He climbed the narrow staircase two steps at a time until he stood before the worn wooden door marked 4B. He smirked, imagining the look on Irian's face when he opened it.
He knocked. Firm. Commanding.
There was a pause, the faint shuffle of movement inside, then the creak of the door.
Irian appeared, framed in the dim glow of a single lamp behind him. His hair was damp, probably from a rushed shower, and his shirt hung loose over his shoulders. His eyes—dark, unreadable—met Daelen's, and for a moment, the Alpha felt something unexpected.
Not victory. Not triumph.
Something colder. A mirror staring back at him.
"…Daelen?" Irian's voice was quiet, as if he wasn't sure saying the name aloud wouldn't shatter the air between them.
"Yeah," Daelen drawled, leaning one arm against the doorframe, casual but unyielding. "Thought we could talk. Didn't think you'd mind."
Irian's brows knit, but he didn't move aside. The silence stretched, uncomfortable, pressing against Daelen's usual arrogance. He was used to doors opening for him—used to Omegas blushing, faltering, folding under the weight of his attention.
But Irian just stood there.
Finally, Daelen pushed lightly at the door, slipping inside without waiting for permission. "Nice place," he lied, glancing at the sparsely furnished apartment. It was bare, almost sterile, the kind of space that told stories in the things it lacked.
Irian closed the door behind him but stayed near it, hands in his pockets, watching Daelen like one might watch a stray dog—wary, but calm.
"So," Daelen said, turning with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "You and I don't talk much. Thought I'd fix that."
"And why now?" Irian asked softly.
The words were simple, but they landed heavier than Daelen expected. He tilted his head, smirk sharpening. "Why not now?"
But even as he spoke, something about the Omega's steady gaze unnerved him. There was no fluster, no obvious weakness—just quiet, impenetrable walls.
For the first time, Daelen wondered if breaking them would be as easy as he thought.