The Hall of Doom had never smelled like this.

Under the flicker of green phosphorescence, the air quivered with something more primal than fear. It wasn’t Lex Luthor’s cologne—or Harley Quinn’s perfume crushed into chaos—it was a single, heady fragrance that wound its way through every corridor and summoning circle.

Cheetah froze mid-pounce on a sharpened claw, nostrils flaring. Sinestro’s yellow ring dimmed as he caught the drift of it, lips thinning. Even Mirror Master paused his reflections, blinking twice at the shifting shadows.

Because in this world of alphas and omegas, scent was everything. And tonight, someone’s heat had come early.

Lex surveyed his gathered Legion—villains unaccustomed to losing control. “You smell that?” he said, voice low and cold. “That… indicates an omega in season.”

A tense hush fell. The usual power plays and prestige meant nothing when biology reigned.

Harley’s grin was the only acknowledgment, wild and eager. “Game on,” she purred, tail of hair curling over her shoulder.

Some crimes could wait. Tonight, the greatest hunt would begin not for blood, but for that one intoxicating scent—one that promised to unravel even the hardest heart in the Legion of Doom.