Serin didn't run fast.
He ran smart.
Not down the main road.
Not into open spaces.
Not toward crowds.
He cut into a side street between a closed laundry shop and a narrow bar with flickering lights. The alley smelled like wet concrete and old trash. A place people avoided. A place cameras barely worked.
Good.
His breath stayed controlled even as his chest burned.
Panic made noise.
Noise got attention.
Attention got you caught.
His hand shook as he reached into his bag and pulled out another suppressant vial. He didn't stop walking — just snapped the cap with his thumb and swallowed it dry.
The liquid burned down his throat.
Too fast.
Too much.
But fear didn't care about dosage.
His glands ached.
Not from heat.
From exposure.
Someone had felt him.
Not seen him.
Not touched him.
Recognized him.
That was worse.
He turned a corner and blended into a small cluster of people outside a late-night food stall. The kind with plastic chairs and weak yellow lights. Steam rising from metal pots. Oil popping in shallow pans.
Normal people.
Normal noise.
Normal life.
He sat.
Lowered his head.
Forced his breathing slow.
His hands rested on his knees, fingers curled inward, nails biting into skin to keep himself grounded.
You're fine.
You're hidden.
You're safe.
You're invisible.
That's what he told himself.
But his body didn't believe it.
Kael Virex stood where he was.
He hadn't moved.
The crowd had swallowed the omega's shape, but not the presence.
Not the trail.
Not the pull.
It wasn't a clean scent.
It wasn't clear.
It was broken. Suppressed. Drugged. Masked.
But it was still there.
Like a whisper under noise.
Like warmth under cold.
Unregistered.
Unclaimed.
Unprotected.
That alone was a problem.
His security team waited silently behind him.
No one spoke.
No one asked questions.
They didn't need to.
Kael's eyes were calm.
But his mind wasn't.
The pull didn't make sense.
It wasn't heat.
It wasn't attraction.
It wasn't even sexual.
It was instinctive ownership.
Like his body had recognized something before his mind had.
He didn't like that.
He didn't like losing control of his reactions.
He didn't like things he couldn't explain.
"Don't touch him," Kael said quietly.
The words were soft.
The meaning wasn't.
"Follow. Observe. No contact."
"Yes, sir."
Two men moved without being noticed.
Not chasing.
Not rushing.
Just blending into the street like ordinary people.
Serin felt it again.
That pressure.
That awareness.
Like eyes on his back even when he couldn't see them.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
Just… present.
He stood slowly, paid for food he hadn't touched, and walked away.
This time he didn't run.
Running made patterns.
Patterns made trails.
He walked into a small residential block — low buildings, dim streetlights, quiet sidewalks, parked cars. The kind of place people didn't watch.
He turned into a narrow stairwell of an old apartment building and climbed to the third floor.
His legs felt weak.
Not tired.
Heavy.
Like his body already knew resistance was useless.
He unlocked his door, slipped inside, and locked it behind him.
Then he leaned against it.
His heart pounded.
His chest rose and fell hard.
His hands shook.
Not panic.
Instinct.
Predator recognition.
Omega fear response.
He slid down until he was sitting on the floor.
The room was small.
Bed.
Table.
Chair.
Window.
Sink.
Nothing special.
Nothing valuable.
Nothing noticeable.
Just survival.
He pressed his hand to his neck, over his glands.
They still burned.
Still sensitive.
Still exposed.
He whispered, barely audible:
"He knows…"
Not who.
Not his name.
Not his past.
Not his story.
Just one thing:
What he is.
Across the street, in a quiet parked car, Kael watched the building.
Not the door.
Not the windows.
The space.
The presence.
The pull.
He didn't feel satisfaction.
Didn't feel excitement.
Didn't feel hunger.
He felt something colder.
Certainty.
"He's hiding," one of his men said quietly.
Kael didn't answer.
Because that wasn't the point.
Everyone hid.
Everyone ran.
Everyone avoided.
What mattered was this:
The omega hadn't felt like prey.
He hadn't felt weak.
He hadn't felt fragile.
He hadn't felt submissive.
He had felt…
controlled.
Contained.
Tight.
Disciplined.
Afraid — but not broken.
That made him dangerous in a different way.
Interesting in a dangerous way.
Kael spoke calmly:
"Background check the area." "Registration system." "Medical records." "Illegal suppressant distribution." "Unregistered listings." "Fake beta IDs."
Pause.
Then:
"I want to know who he is before he knows I'm looking."
The car stayed parked.
The street stayed quiet.
The building stayed silent.
And upstairs, in a small room with locked doors and thin walls—
Serin sat on the floor, holding his breath, knowing something worse than being found had already happened:
He had been claimed by instinct.
Not by bond.
Not by mark.
Not by contract.
But by attention.
And in this world—
That was how it started.