-Vaughn Blackmore:
The drive takes longer than I expected.
Not because the distance is that far, but because every kilometer feels heavier than the last. The closer I get, the tighter my grip on the steering wheel becomes, until my knuckles are pale and my shoulders are stiff from holding the same position for too long.
I don't turn on the radio. I don't try to distract myself.
I let the silence sit with me.
Let it press in.
Because once I get there, there won't be silence anymore.
There will be noise, movement, people—Alphas. Too many of them. Enough to make the air feel different, thicker, harder to breathe in.
I don't slow down.
I don't turn around.
By the time the gates come into view, the sun is already high enough to cast sharp shadows across the ground. The place looks exactly like I imagined it would.
And worse.
The entrance is massive. Tall iron gates reinforced with dark steel, built less like something meant to welcome people and more like something meant to keep them contained. They stretch high above me, connected to thick stone walls that run along both sides, enclosing the entire compound.
It looks like a fortress.
Not a school. Not a camp.
A fortress.
There's a guard posted at the entrance. He steps forward as I approach, his presence immediate, heavy in a way that makes it clear he's an Alpha without him needing to say a word.
I roll down the window.
"Name," he says, voice flat, professional.
"Vaughn Blackmore."
There's a pause. Just long enough to notice.
His eyes flick over me, quick but assessing, like he's already putting pieces together. Then he nods once, stepping back and signaling for the gates to open.
The metal shifts with a low, heavy sound.
And just like that—
I'm in.
The inside is… bigger than I expected.
The main road stretches forward, wide and clean, leading deeper into the compound. Buildings line both sides, all constructed in the same style—dark stone, sharp edges, large windows that reflect the light instead of letting it soften anything.
Everything feels deliberate.
Structured.
Controlled.
To the right, I catch sight of what looks like a training field—wide, open, marked with different sections. Even from a distance, I can see movement. People are already training. Running drills. Sparring.
Alphas.
All of them.
I look away before I stare too long.
Further in, there's a central building—larger than the rest, positioned like it's the heart of everything. That's where I park.
For a moment, I sit there, hands still on the wheel, engine off, the silence returning just long enough to settle under my skin again.
This is it.
No more preparation.
No more imagining.
I step out of the car before I can think about it too much.
The air feels different here.
Heavier.
It presses against my senses immediately, a mix of scents that don't blend so much as clash—sharp, dominant, overwhelming in a way that makes my instincts tense without permission.
Alphas.
Too many of them.
I adjust my cap as I walk, pulling it down slightly out of habit, even though there's no one close enough yet to notice anything.
The doors to the main building slide open as I approach.
Inside, it's quieter.
Cooler.
The space is large, open, with polished floors that reflect the light coming in from the high windows. A reception desk sits near the center, clean and minimal, with a woman standing behind it.
She looks up as I walk in.
Her gaze lands on me—and stays there.
Not welcoming.
Not unfriendly either.
Just… assessing.
"Name?" she asks.
"Vaughn Blackmore."
There's a pause.
A longer one this time.
Her fingers hover over the tablet in front of her before she actually types it in. I can see the moment it clicks for her, the subtle shift in her expression as she looks back up at me.
"Oh," she says slowly. "You're the Omega."
Not quiet enough to be private.
Not loud enough to draw attention.
Just enough to sit there between us.
I nod once.
Her eyes linger a second longer than necessary, like she's trying to figure something out. Or maybe trying to decide if she believes it.
If I'm real.
If I'm actually standing here.
"Right," she says after a moment, clearing her throat slightly. "You're… registered."
It doesn't sound like something she expected to say.
She reaches under the desk, pulling out a key card and placing it in front of her before sliding it toward me.
"Dormitory B. Second floor. Room 214," she says. "You'll be sharing with another trainee."
Of course I will.
I take the key.
"Training schedules are posted in the east wing," she adds, still watching me in that same strange way. "Orientation starts tomorrow morning."
I nod again.
"Thanks."
She doesn't respond immediately.
Just keeps looking.
Then, finally, she gestures vaguely toward the hallway. "You'll find the dorms through there."
I don't wait for anything else.
I turn and walk away, feeling her gaze on my back the entire time.
—
The halls are long.
That's the first thing I notice.
Long and straight, stretching farther than they should, lined with identical doors and minimal decoration. Everything is clean. Too clean. Like, no one actually lives here, even though I know they do.
My footsteps echo slightly as I walk.
I pass a few people along the way.
They all look at me.
Not openly.
Not obviously.
But I notice.
I always do.
Dormitory B is exactly like the rest—same structure, same design, just slightly more lived in. There are more voices here, more movement, doors opening and closing, the low hum of conversation drifting through the halls.
I find my room quickly.
I stop in front of the door for a second, staring at the number like it means something more than it does.
Then I swipe the card.
The door clicks open.
And I step inside.
The room is… simple.
Two beds on opposite sides. Two desks. Two wardrobes. A shared space that's clearly meant to be just enough for two people and nothing more.
One side is already taken.
There's a bag on the bed, clothes partially unpacked, and a jacket thrown over the chair like someone didn't care enough to place it properly.
"Finally."
The voice comes from behind me.
I turn.
He's standing near the window, leaning casually against the frame like he's been there long enough to get comfortable. He's tall—easily over six feet—with broad shoulders and a build that makes it obvious he's been training for years. His hair is dark, slightly messy in a way that looks natural rather than careless, and there's something easy about the way he carries himself.
Relaxed.
Confident.
He pushes himself off the wall as he looks at me, eyes sharp but not unfriendly.
"Vaughn, right?" he says.
I nod once. "Yeah."
"Darien," he replies, stepping closer and offering a quick, firm handshake. "Looks like we're stuck together."
There's a hint of amusement in his tone, like he doesn't mind it.
Like me, being an omega doesn't matter.
Like he might even find it irrelevant. That's refreshing.
I take in the room again, setting my suitcase down near the empty bed. It feels… strange. Being here. Standing in a space that's supposed to be mine for the next few months.
"You got here earlier?" I ask.
"This morning," he says. "Figured I'd claim the better side before you showed up."
I glance at his side of the room.
"Doesn't look like you tried that hard."
He grins slightly. "I don't need to. I make anything look good."
I huff out a quiet breath, shaking my head as I unzip my suitcase.
It's… normal.
The conversation. The room. The moment.
Normal in a way I didn't expect.
But it doesn't last.
Because even here, even in this small space, I can still feel it.
That underlying tension.
That awareness.
I'm not like Darien or any other alpha here.
I never will be.
I pull out my clothes, placing them neatly on the bed before starting to unpack, giving myself something to focus on. Something simple. Something controlled.
Darien watches for a second before speaking again.
"You're the Omega, aren't you?" he asks.
There's no judgment in his tone.
Just curiosity.
I don't look up.
"Yeah."
A pause.
Then, "Huh."
Not surprised.
Not impressed.
Just… acknowledging it.
I glance at him briefly.
He shrugs. "Didn't think they'd actually let one in."
"It's a training camp for everyone, Darien," I say.
That earns me a small laugh.
And just like that, the tension eases—just a little.
Not gone.
Not completely.
But enough.
I finish unpacking slowly, placing everything where it belongs, turning this space into something that feels slightly less temporary.
Outside, I can hear movement. Voices. The distant sound of training was already starting somewhere far off.
It's real now.
I'm here.
And whether I belong or not—
I'm not leaving.