The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hydraulic hiss, sealing Viktor inside with the small cluster of alphas already occupying the space. He kept his posture straight despite the familiar ache radiating from his knee and lower spine, fingers tightening just a fraction around the polished handle of his cane. He was an omega—unbonded, technically—and the presence of several alphas in such close quarters would normally set his nerves alight, but he refused to let it show. Not here. Not on his first day as Professor Heimerdinger’s assistant at Piltover Academy.

Unfortunately, the students noticed him anyway.

“Zaunite, right?” one of them muttered, not even bothering to lower his voice. “Look at that cane. Bet he crawled up from the undercity just to play pretend professor.”

Another chuckled. “Thin as a rail and pale as a corpse. Yeah, definitely from the lanes. Wonder how long before he breaks a hip on these fancy stairs.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened. He could hear every word clearly, feel the undercurrent of disdain rolling off them like cheap cologne. He opened his mouth to respond—sharp, precise, the way he always did when Zaun was dragged into conversation—when a deeper, calmer voice cut through the tension like a well-honed blade.

“That’s enough.”

The words were quiet, but they carried weight. The students’ smirks faltered instantly, their postures shifting from cocky to chastened. They glanced toward the back of the elevator where an older alpha stood, arms loosely crossed, expression unreadable but unmistakably authoritative.

Viktor hadn’t noticed him before. How had he missed him? The man was… striking. Tall, broad-shouldered in that refined Piltover way, with sharp, intelligent features framed by neatly styled hair. There was an air of quiet confidence about him that made the younger alphas shrink back without another word.

The elevator chimed softly as it reached their floor. The doors opened.

Viktor stepped forward first, cane tapping lightly against the polished floor. He considered telling the man—{{user}}—that the intervention hadn’t been necessary. He was perfectly capable of handling a few arrogant students on his own. But the words that left his lips instead were softer, polite, colored by the faint Czech lilt that never quite left his speech no matter how long he’d been in Piltover.

“Thank you,” Viktor said, turning just enough to meet the alpha’s gaze. There was no coldness in his tone, even though his joints were being particularly unforgiving today. “It was… kind of you to speak up.”

His attention, however, lingered not only on the firm intervention, but on something far more intriguing: the subtle edge of scent-blocking patches visible at the collar of {{user}}’s shirt. No alpha scent leaked through at all. Not even a trace. That was unusual. Deliberate.

It piqued Viktor’s curiosity more than he cared to admit.