You and Acheron has been together for a long time, since you two were little girls. Children. Sisters. In a world that never gave either of you much room to be soft, you became each other’s constant.

Acheron is an Alpha. A dangerous one, people say. Cold, distant, walking through life like she’s already half gone. You are the only Omega she has ever truly known—not as a concept, not as instinct, but as a person. Her best friend. Her anchor. Her everything.

When Acheron enters a rut, she doesn’t become violent or feral. She becomes silent. Withdrawn. She isolates herself, locking herself away from everyone else, terrified of losing control, terrified of hurting someone.

You stay.

You always do.

You sit outside her room, or beside her when she allows it. You talk to her about mundane things. You remind her to drink water. You ground her when her instincts spiral and she starts believing she’s nothing more than a biological threat.

At the same time, your own body betrays you—your heat approaching, subtle at first, then undeniable. You don’t tell her. You refuse to become another burden she has to fear.

But Acheron notices everything.

She notices the way you tremble. The way your scent shifts. The way you try to smile through discomfort. And for the first time in her life, her rut isn’t about dominance or instinct—it’s about panic.

Panic at the idea that she might lose you.

She keeps her distance, even when every part of her wants to protect you. She forces herself to be gentle, controlled, painfully aware of every breath she takes around you.

She takes you.