Proximity Without Permission
Caelum Virex did not believe in coincidence.
The world functioned on cause and consequence, on systems layered so densely they appeared chaotic to those who lacked the discipline to observe them properly. Even anomalies followed rules. They simply revealed them more slowly.
Iria Vale was not a coincidence.
She was a fault line.
He stood in the shadows of the upper corridor overlooking the residential wing, posture relaxed, attention precise. The building's security recognized him as authorized personnel without question. It always did. Systems responded to Enigmas efficiently. Humans did not.
Below him, Iria moved through the space with quiet assurance, unaware—or pretending to be unaware—of how closely she was being watched.
Her steps were unhurried. Measured. Not the careful pacing of an Omega attempting to avoid notice, but the deliberate movement of someone accustomed to being observed and choosing not to react.
That alone unsettled him.
Omegas learned early that attention equaled danger. They adapted accordingly—softening their presence, shrinking themselves into acceptable shapes. Iria did not.
She occupied space without apology.
Caelum replayed their earlier interaction with clinical precision. The cadence of her voice. The way her pulse had slowed rather than spiked in his presence. The absence of instinctual appeasement.
She had not resisted him.
She had simply… not obeyed.
That distinction mattered.
He had not followed her immediately after the event. Obsession without delay invited error. Instead, he had waited. Observed. Allowed patterns to emerge.
And patterns had emerged quickly.
Iria did not seek Alpha protection afterward. No sudden bonding negotiations. No attempts to attach herself to a stronger presence to ward off scrutiny.
She remained unclaimed.
Worse—she remained unbothered by it.
Caelum's fingers curled slowly against the railing.
Unclaimed Omegas were anomalies in their own right. Vulnerable. Politically dangerous. Most were pressured into submission quickly for their own "safety."
Yet Iria moved as if she did not expect rescue.
As if she did not require it.
That illusion would not survive long.
He descended the stairs silently, footsteps measured, presence deliberately muted. Enigmas did not announce themselves unless they chose to. His approach registered too late for most instincts to respond.
She sensed him anyway.
Her shoulders shifted subtly, spine straightening as she turned.
"You've been watching me," Iria said.
Not an accusation. An observation.
"Yes," Caelum replied.
No denial. No justification.
Her gaze sharpened. "Why?"
The question was dangerous.
He could have offered any number of acceptable answers. Curiosity. Political interest. Coincidence.
Instead, he told the truth.
"Because you behave incorrectly."
A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossed her face.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It isn't one," he said calmly. "It's a risk assessment."
She studied him openly now, eyes steady, unafraid.
"That sounds like a threat."
"It's a warning."
Iria exhaled softly, gaze drifting past him toward the corridor ahead. "You don't warn people unless you intend to interfere."
Caelum felt the truth of that statement settle into him with unsettling weight.
"I don't intervene lightly," he said.
"No," she agreed. "You intervene precisely."
The observation struck deeper than it should have.
He watched her fingers tighten briefly at her side, the only visible sign of tension. Not fear. Anticipation.
"You should distance yourself from me," Caelum said.
Her eyes returned to his. "Because I'm an Omega?"
"No," he replied. "Because proximity to me removes the protections you believe you have."
That was the closest thing to honesty he could safely offer.
She considered him in silence, then stepped closer.
Not into his space.
Close enough.
"I don't feel unprotected," she said quietly. "I feel… undirected."
The word echoed unpleasantly in his mind.
Undirected meant ungoverned.
Uncontrolled.
Caelum's awareness sharpened painfully. He catalogued the subtle shifts in her posture, the steady rhythm of her breathing. Her Omega scent remained muted, disciplined, but beneath it lay something resilient. Refusing to fray.
"You don't respond to dominance," he said.
"I respond to intent," Iria replied.
That answer should not have mattered.
It did.
Caelum realized then that his interest had crossed an invisible threshold. This was no longer observation. No longer curiosity.
It was containment.
He needed to know her limits. Needed to understand whether her resistance was learned behavior or intrinsic defiance.
Because if it was intrinsic—
Then she was not merely anomalous.
She was incompatible with the system.
And incompatible elements were either corrected or destroyed.
He had no intention of allowing the latter.
"You should leave this wing," he said, stepping aside. "Now."
She hesitated only a moment before complying, passing him without flinching.
Her shoulder brushed his arm.
The contact was accidental.
The effect was not.
Caelum's mind stalled, attention narrowing violently. No instinct flared—no Alpha response, no Enigma dominance surge.
Instead, something unfamiliar tightened inside him.
Possession without claim.
Awareness without permission.
He did not reach for her.
He did not stop her.
But his gaze followed her until she disappeared from view.
That night, Caelum did not sleep.
He accessed restricted files with practiced ease, bypassing security protocols designed to deter lesser minds. Iria Vale's profile unfolded across the screen in stark detail.
Omega. Unbonded. No registered heats in the past eighteen months.
Voluntary suppressants.
High compliance scores paired with repeated refusals of long-term claiming contracts.
Psychological evaluations flagged her as "nonconforming but manageable."
Manageable.
Caelum closed the file slowly.
They were wrong.
By dawn, he had adjusted his routines. His movements intersected with hers more frequently—but never obviously. Always coincidental. Always plausible.
He did not approach her again.
He allowed her to feel his presence without explanation.
Because obsession was not built through pursuit.
It was built through inevitability.
And Iria Vale, unaware of the invisible lattice closing around her, had already become the central variable in his calculations.
Not because he wanted her.
But because the world would not tolerate what she represented.
And Caelum Virex did not tolerate the world interfering with what he chose to protect .