The power cuts out just as the thunder cracks—and then the gunshots start.
For half a second, Kael Ardyn thinks it's just the storm playing tricks on him.
The lights had already been flickering, the rain already hammering against the cracked window like it had a personal vendetta against his existence. Thunder had been rolling nonstop, loud enough to rattle the thin walls of his apartment and make the old pipes groan in protest.
So when the darkness swallows the room whole, it doesn't feel unusual.
Annoying, yes. Expected, definitely.
But normal.
The gunshots are not.
Kael freezes, fingers hovering mid-air over his laptop keyboard.
Tap.
A drop of water hits the steel bowl beneath the leak in the ceiling. Then another. Then another—steady, rhythmic, almost calm in comparison to the chaos outside.
His screen is the only source of light now, casting a dull blue glow across his face. It reflects faintly off his glasses—cheap frames, slightly crooked at the bridge from being pushed up too many times, too carelessly.
He doesn't move.
Doesn't breathe.
Another crack splits the air—sharp, unmistakable.
Gunfire.
Close.
Too close.
"Oh, hell," he whispers, the words barely audible even to himself.
His body reacts before his mind fully catches up. The laptop snaps shut with a soft click, plunging the room into near-complete darkness. His hand hovers near the switch on instinct, then jerks back.
No lights.
No sound.
No existence.
His pulse spikes, loud and uneven, thudding against his ribs like it's trying to give him away.
Stay quiet.
Stay hidden.
Don't be noticed.
The instincts aren't new. They've been carved into him over years—through whispers, warnings, survival.
Through loss.
Kael presses his lips together, forcing his breathing to slow, to steady, even as adrenaline starts creeping into his veins.
The storm doesn't help.
Rain lashes harder against the window, wind forcing its way through the gaps in the frame with a high-pitched whistle. The building creaks under the pressure, old wood and rusted metal protesting every gust.
This place is a dump.
Third floor of a half-rotting building in a part of Veltara people only mention when they're talking about crime statistics. The Hollow, the locals called it—a stretch of overcrowded streets and shuttered storefronts where no one asked questions because no one wanted answers.
That's why he chose it.
That—and because it was cheap.
Classic Kael, he thought bitterly. Two years in Veltara and this is still the best you've got. A leaking ceiling, a dodgy landlord, and apparently, a front-row seat to whatever war is happening in the hallway.
He shifted back slowly from the desk, bare feet silent against the cold floor. He knew exactly where to step, which boards creaked, which ones didn't. You learn things like that when you live alone long enough.
Always alone.
The thought came uninvited, sharp at the edges.
He ignored it.
Just like he ignored the faint ache that came with it.
He didn't end up here by accident.
Foreign country. No family. No safety net.
Just him—and a secondhand laptop, a barista apron that smelled permanently of espresso, and three freelance clients who paid late every single time without fail.
Living the dream, he told himself dryly.
Absolutely thriving.
And honestly? He preferred it that way.
No expectations. No disappointed looks. No voices telling him what he should have been instead of what he is.
Omega.
The word sat heavy in his chest, even now.
It had cost him everything at eighteen.
His family hadn't even waited for the full diagnosis. One secondary gender test, one piece of paper, and suddenly he was a problem to be solved rather than a son to be kept.
At least they were efficient about it, he thought, with the particular bitterness of someone who had made peace with something they hadn't actually made peace with at all.
Kael exhaled slowly, dragging himself back to the present.
Not the time.
Not now.
Focus.
Another gunshot rang out, louder this time, echoing through the building itself.
He flinched.
That was right outside.
His throat went dry.
Okay. Okay. Think.
He moved toward the door, slow and careful, every step measured. The hallway outside was barely lit on a good day. Right now, it was probably pitch black.
Which meant whoever was out there—
Couldn't see him.
Unless he gave them a reason to.
Voices broke through the storm.
Shouting.
Not distant. Not muffled.
Right there.
Kael stopped a few feet from the door, pressing himself against the wall beside it. The paint was peeling beneath his fingers, rough and damp.
"—this way!"
"Move—move!"
"Don't let—"
The words overlapped, frantic, sharp, cut off by another crack of thunder.
And then—
Footsteps.
Running.
His entire body went rigid.
Multiple people. Heavy steps, fast, splashing through water pooled in the corridor outside. The sound was unmistakable.
They were right outside his apartment.
Of course they are, some hysterical part of him noted. Because why would the universe give you one quiet Tuesday? Just one. That's all I'm asking.
Kael clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to stay silent, to not even exist in this moment.
His heart was pounding so hard it almost hurt.
This wasn't just some random street fight spilling over.
This was organized.
Chasing.
Hunting.
A car screeched somewhere nearby, tires skidding violently against wet asphalt. The sound cut through everything else, sharp and sudden.
Someone yelled—a strangled, panicked sound that ended too abruptly to be anything good.
Kael's stomach twisted.
He shouldn't be here.
He shouldn't be hearing this.
He should've moved months ago, when he still had enough saved, when things weren't so tight, when—
Focus.
His fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grounding himself.
Stay quiet.
Stay hidden.
Don't—
The scent hit him like a punch to the chest.
Whiskey.
Smoke.
Dark. Heavy. Overwhelming.
Kael's breath stuttered.
No.
No, no, no—
An alpha.
His instincts reacted instantly, violently—something deep inside him tightening, pulling, responding in a way he hated with every fiber of his being. His pulse spiked again, not just from fear now but from something sharper, more dangerous.
The scent was too strong.
Too close.
Right outside his door.
Panic flared, hot and suffocating.
He forced himself to breathe through it, shallow and controlled. Strong emotions meant stronger scent, and the last thing he needed right now was to announce exactly what he was to whoever was out there.
Beta, he reminded himself viciously. You are a beta. You smell like nothing. You are nothing. Invisible. Boring. Move on.
Especially not an alpha.
Especially not this alpha.
There was something wrong with it.
Not comforting. Not grounding.
Predatory.
The kind of presence that didn't just fill a space—it claimed it.
Kael pressed himself harder against the wall, as if he could somehow disappear into it.
The footsteps stopped.
Right outside.
Silence dropped like a blade.
Thick. Heavy. Waiting.
Kael didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't even blink.
Every instinct in his body was screaming now, a deafening chorus of warning and fear and something far too close to anticipation.
The scent lingered, curling into the air, seeping under the door like it belonged there.
Like he belonged there.
A slow, deliberate step.
Right up to his door.
Kael's pulse hammered in his ears.
Please—
Just go.
Just leave.
Whatever this is, whoever you are—
Not here.
Not me.
For a single, fragile moment, it felt like the storm itself paused. Like the world was holding its breath along with him.
And then—
Something slammed violently against the door.