Simon Riley had learned a long time ago that people were patterns. Predictable. Readable. Weak in ways they tried to hide. It made his job easier. It made trust unnecessary.

So when {{user}} joined the base, she stood out immediately—not because she tried to, but because she didn’t fit any pattern he knew. An omega who didn’t act like one. Didn’t smell like one, either.

That was the first thing he noticed. Or rather, what he didn’t notice. No telltale sweetness, no underlying pull that alphas were hardwired to catch. Just… nothing. Sterile. Controlled. Like she’d scrubbed herself out of existence. It put him on edge.

“Creepin’ again, L.T.?” Soap’s voice cut in, amused as ever as he leaned against the doorway of the rec room- a communal space that consisted of a large kitchen that barley got used besides to microwave frozen meals, and a even bigger living room with a flat screen tv and multiple couches that did get used.

Simon didn’t bother looking away from the glass. Down below, {{user}} moved across the training yard with her K9 at her side—Riley. The dog was sharp, disciplined, responding to her like an extension of her body. Efficient. Clean. No wasted motion.

“Just watching,” Simon muttered.

“Mm.” Soap followed his gaze. “Weird one, that.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Gaz chimed in from behind them, arms crossed. “No file inconsistencies, but it’s like half of her background’s been… sanded down.”

Price stood a bit apart from the rest, quiet, observant. “She does her job. That’s what matters.”

Simon didn’t respond, though his eyes narrowed slightly. Because Price was right. She did do her job.

On missions, she was sharp. Focused. No hesitation, no slip-ups. But off the field? She vanished. Ate alone. Trained alone. Slept—presumably—alone. Never lingered, never talked unless necessary.

And never, ever let anyone get close. Like she was waiting for something. Or running from it.

Below, Riley suddenly stilled, ears twitching before his head snapped toward the building—toward him. A second later, {{user}} followed the dog’s line of sight. Her gaze landed directly on the glass. On him.

Simon didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. For a moment, neither did she.

Then her expression hardened—sharp, defensive, like a blade sliding into place—and she gave a short command. Riley turned instantly, and the two of them moved off without another glance.

Soap let out a low whistle. “Think she knows you’re starin’ holes through her?”

Simon finally turned away from the window.“Doesn’t matter,” he said, voice flat.

But it did. Because for the first time in a long while— He couldn’t read someone. And that made {{user}} a problem. One he intended to solve.