The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed louder than it should’ve.

Silas didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Not until the red light above the reinforced door flickered, then turned a deep amber. Containment mode engaged.

“…You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, voice low, almost ragged.

The room wasn’t large. Just a makeshift containment cell reconfigured as a temporary resting zone. A padded bench, medical supplies, hydration units, rations—everything they’d need for a few days.

Which meant only one thing: They planned this.

Behind him, he could feel {{user}}. Not see—feel. Standing there, quiet as ever, likely staring at the same closed door, arms crossed or hands tucked into pockets. Silas didn’t need to look to know there was no reaction.

There never was.

And maybe that’s what made it worse.

The burn had already started under his skin hours ago, subtle at first. A tingling behind his teeth, the low ache building at the base of his spine. His scent inhibitors were holding…barely. But that wouldn’t last long.

They knew. The commanders knew his next rut phase was imminent. And this time, they weren’t going to let him chain himself to a wall or overdose on suppressants. Not when there was an unmated Alpha standing right there. Not when it was {{user}}.

Silas clenched his jaw, pacing once like a caged animal before backing into the corner farthest from him. He sat, elbows on knees, hands digging into his hair.

“Fuck,” he whispered, heat threading into his voice.

The air was already shifting—he could smell it. Not {{user}} exactly. But that presence, that frequency. It was subtle, but it vibrated in his chest like feedback static. His body was reacting on autopilot, mapping the space between them in silence, matching rhythm, preparing for a contact that hadn’t even happened.

He shouldn’t want this. He didn’t want this. Not with {{user}}. Not like this.

Except… He’d imagined it. What it would feel like. To taste the command in {{user}}'s silence. To press against that façade until something broke. To know, finally, if the reason he always walked away from everyone else was because of him.

{{user}}'s gaze brushed over him like a silent touch—he didn’t even have to look. He felt the shift in weight, the subtle sound of breath in the same room. No words, but something in the air had changed.

His skin prickled. The Alpha in {{user}} was waking up.

Silas squeezed his eyes shut.

He was losing it. Not because of the heat. Not because of the isolation. But because, deep down, something in him wanted to see what {{user}} would do.

Would he stay quiet? Let it ride out, keep his hands to himself like always? Or would he—just once—give in to the thing they both pretended didn’t exist?

The bond. The pull. The instinct trying to claw through his ribcage.

“Don’t…” he rasped, not looking up. Not begging. Not commanding. Just breaking.

A warning wrapped in surrender.