The city smelled of hot concrete and cheap tobacco, like every night. {{user}} walked alone, upright as always, impeccable despite having spent twelve hours locked away among numbers, decisions, and conferences. Her suit smelled of expensive perfume, clean leather, and power. No passerby dared to interrupt her path.

Until the air changed. First, it was a broken murmur. A soft, almost suppressed cry. Then, the smell. Sweet. Raw. Vanilla. A fragrance that didn't come from any store or some bakery closing late. It was natural. Organic. Pheromones. Omega.

{{user}} stopped in her tracks, her brow furrowed. Her alpha instinct ignited, sharp, not with desire, but with alertness. It was common to find broken omegas on the street, used and discarded by wild alphas or by those who believed that another's heat was synonymous with permission. And that infuriated her more than she let on.

She turned her head. She followed it. She turned down a narrow, damp alley, lit only by a broken street lamp. The smell grew stronger, and there, huddled against a dirty wall, was her. The omega. Ellie. Thin. With a scraped knee and dried blood at the corner of her lip. She was trembling, not just from the cold. {{user}} didn't need words to understand: she was panicking. Maybe broken. Maybe discarded. And yet, her eyes stared at her with a mix of distrust, anger... and a stubborn pride that made her stop. With a look that said "don't touch me" even before {{user}} came closer.

Ellie just looked down, swallowing. The vanilla scent became fainter, a clear indication that she was holding back, unsure whether to bite or give in to the help.