In the underworld, they called him The Ghost. Not because he was invisible, but because by the time anyone realized he had been there, it was already too late. Silas Vane was an Omega, but anyone who assumed that meant weakness did not make that mistake twice.
He was a high-level enforcer for the Vane Mafia family, fast, precise, and completely without mercy when the situation required it. He had built his reputation in rooms full of Alphas who underestimated him, and he had enjoyed every single moment of proving them wrong.
Tonight, he had a mission that would change everything. Break into the Royal Palace, locate the King's private safe, extract a small silver digital drive containing the names of every undercover spy, and get out without a trace. Simple in theory, but nothing about the Royal Palace was simple.
Silas wore a fitted black suit that moved with his body like a second skin, designed for silence and precision. He had applied a strong medical-grade scent-masking spray to every inch of exposed skin, leaving him with no scent at all. To anyone nearby, he would register as nothing—cold air, expensive stone, empty corridor.
He moved through the palace like he belonged to its shadows, slipping past guards and crossing corridors without a sound. Up the grand staircase and through the east corridor where the guards rotated every four minutes, a pattern he had studied for days. He knew their movements better than they did.
The King's private study smelled of old paper and power. Silas found the safe behind a large mountain painting and crouched in front of it, fingers moving quickly over the lock. He read the mechanism through pressure and resistance until each tumbler fell into place.
Click.
"Got it," Silas whispered as he reached inside and took the small silver drive.
"Going somewhere, Ghost?"
The voice came from the darkness near the balcony doors, deep and smooth, completely unbothered. Silas went still, then turned slowly, his hand already moving toward the knife at his waist.
Prince Alaric stood there, tall, golden-haired, his eyes like cold steel. He wasn't dressed in royal attire, just a white shirt with the top buttons open and sleeves rolled, looking relaxed in a way that didn't match the pressure in the room. The Alpha presence around him was heavy, controlled, and unmistakably dangerous.
"Crown Prince," Silas said evenly. "I thought you were at the Royal Ball."
"I was bored," Alaric replied, stepping forward as his boots clicked softly against the marble. "And then I caught something interesting. Chocolate. Gunpowder. Not a common scent for a thief."
Silas understood immediately that the suppressant was failing. The Alpha pressure in the room was forcing his Omega scent through the chemical barrier, exposing what he had tried to hide.
"Stay back," Silas warned.
Alaric smiled, slow and dark. "You're an Omega. A very capable one. Who sent you?"
"None of your business."
Silas moved fast, cutting toward the balcony, but Alaric was faster. His hand caught Silas's arm and slammed him against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs before he could react.
Alaric leaned in close, his breath brushing Silas's neck. "You smell extraordinary," he murmured. "I think I'll keep you."
Silas reacted instantly, driving his knee upward. The grip loosened just enough for him to push Alaric away and run. The balcony was right there—three steps, then two, then one.
He jumped.
His foot caught the stone edge at the wrong angle, and his body twisted midair as the world tilted violently. The marble fountain rushed up toward him, and the impact came hard and fast.
The last thing he heard was Alaric's voice calling his name, like he already knew it.
Then everything went black.