The office smelled faintly of coffee and printer ink.
Serin sat at his desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, staring at a spreadsheet he didn't care about. Mira was at the next desk, typing away softly, humming to herself — unaware of the tension coiling in the air like a snake.
Serin kept his hood up, even inside. The little things mattered: posture, the way he moved, the way he spoke. One wrong glance, one careless movement — and someone could notice.
He hated that he felt it again.
The pull.
A shadow of presence he couldn't see but could sense.
A dominance pressing on his instincts.
He froze mid-typing. His fingers hovered above the keys.
Someone was watching.
Across the street, Kael leaned against the hood of a plain black sedan. Not flashy. Not noticeable. Just parked on the side street near Serin's building.
Rowan sat beside him, arms crossed.
Eli held a tablet, scrolling quietly.
Kael didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even glance at the building.
He could feel it.
The omega inside. The small apartment. The single window with thin curtains. The way Serin's body tensed when he realized he was being watched.
Not fear alone.
Resistance.
Control.
Survival instinct.
Kael's jaw tightened.
"Every movement, every breath," he said quietly, "I want a record. I want to know how he moves when he doesn't think anyone's looking. No contact. No pressure yet."
Rowan nodded. "Understood."
Eli hesitated. "You want us to—"
Kael cut him off. Calm. Certain. "We observe. That's it. Let him feel the weight of attention. Let him realize he's not invisible. Not yet."
Back in the office, Serin's fingers twitched. He tried to ignore the feeling of eyes on him.
Impossible.
The subtle, unconscious pressure of someone with instinctual dominance — not even moving, not even speaking — was enough to set his glands on fire.
Not heat. Not desire.
Response.
Alpha presence.
Territorial awareness.
Instinctive claim.
He lowered his head, forced his breathing steady. No one could see. No one would notice.
But Mira leaned over.
"Serin… you okay?"
Her voice was soft. Careful. Normal. Friendly.
He shook his head slightly, forcing a smile. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Her eyes lingered. Concerned. And normal. Not like an alpha. Not like the one watching him outside.
Good. Safe. Normal.
He focused on the spreadsheet. Every cell, every number, every meaningless entry.
Anything to distract his mind from what he couldn't escape.
Outside, Kael shifted slightly, just enough that the faint reflection in the office window caught the corner of Serin's eye.
He didn't look directly. Just a shadow. A movement.
But it was enough.
Serin's pulse jumped. His breath caught. His body reacted in ways he didn't want.
Instinct, biology, survival — tangled with something else.
Something he didn't name.
Something he didn't trust.
Kael tilted his head. Just a subtle motion. Not a glance. Not a stare.
But he could see everything.
Everything Serin thought he hid.
The way Serin pressed his fingers against his desk.
The way he adjusted his hood nervously.
The way his muscles tensed under his thin sweater.
The way his gaze flicked toward the window — just a flick — before pretending to be focused.
And Kael knew.
Not yet mine.
Not yet claimed.
Not yet broken.
But noticed.
Serin's day passed in slow, careful steps.
Every elevator ride. Every hallway. Every glance over his shoulder — measured, controlled, restrained.
By lunchtime, he hadn't eaten. He hadn't drunk anything. His head hurt from suppressants and nerves.
When Mira asked again, he gave her a small, tight smile. "I'll eat later."
She frowned. Something in her eyes noticed the tension he couldn't hide — or maybe the exhaustion beneath it. But she didn't push. Betas didn't question, not like omegas did.
Outside, Kael and his team waited.
The black sedan stayed quiet.
No flashing lights. No alarms. No aggressive moves.
Just presence.
Just weight.
Just pressure.
Kael leaned back.
"This isn't about control yet," he said to Rowan.
"Then what?"
"Observation," Kael replied. "Slow pressure. Let him realize the world isn't neutral. Let him feel what it's like to be noticed. Let him feel it creeping under his skin."
Rowan glanced at Eli. "That's… subtle."
Kael's jaw tightened. "It's enough."
Back inside the apartment that night, Serin collapsed on the floor, drained.
Not from running.
Not from work.
Not from physical exhaustion.
From the weight of being watched.
From instinct.
From biology.
From the knowledge that someone — someone powerful, dangerous, dominant — knew he existed.
And Serin hated it.
He hated how his chest tightened.
He hated how his body reacted.
He hated the heat under his skin.
He hated the way his stomach clenched.
He hated the way he could feel it — Kael's presence, even miles away, through the walls, through the street, through the city's small blocks.
And he couldn't do anything about it.
Not yet.
Not ever.