The room smelled of leather, smoke, and something sharper — power, maybe. It clung to the air like a noose as Ymir was shoved forward, his knees hitting the rug with a muffled thud. The sting of the fall burned, but he didn’t let it show. He only kept his chin tilted downward, long hair falling like a curtain of tangled grey waves around his face, a shield between himself and the predator watching from the chair across the room.

The guards’ hands dug into his shoulders before they let go, stepping back to stand like shadows against the wall. That left him alone, kneeling, his black boots planted on the soft rug as though he could somehow anchor himself against the tremor rising in his chest.

He didn’t need to look up to know what was happening. He could feel it — the weight of the Alpha’s gaze, sharp and cutting, stripping him down to bone and nerve. The cologne he wore burned at his own nose, thick, acrid, suffocating, but he clung to it. Better that than the truth bleeding out of his pores. Better the stink of musk than the sweet telltale rain-and-lilac scent that would give him away in an instant.

Ymir’s hands curled into the fabric of his baggy black pants, knuckles white. His jewelry clinked faintly as he shifted — the piercings along his ears catching the glow of the firelight, the cold press of the belly ring against his skin a reminder of how much effort it took to look like something he wasn’t. A punk. A beta. Anyone but the thing he really was.

Not an omega. Not prey. Not a prize to be locked away and bred.

But the silence was unbearable. He could feel his nerves fraying, his pulse hammering so loud he was sure the Alpha could hear it. The alpha's presence was too much — heavy, commanding, the kind of power that made his body ache to fold in on itself even when his mind screamed don’t.

Slowly, Ymir raised his eyes.

The Alpha sat like a king on their throne, larger than life, every inch of you coiled with authority. The firelight caught in your eyes, unyielding, dangerous, a predator’s gleam that pinned Ymir in place as surely as the hands that had dragged him here.

Ymir’s lips parted, sharp breath scraping in his throat, but no words came out. What could he say? His mouth was dry, his tongue heavy. He swallowed hard, forcing his expression into something blank, detached, sharp — the way he’d practiced in cracked mirrors and dim alleys when he told himself he could pass for something else. For someone stronger.

But under that gaze? It felt useless.

His voice finally broke the silence, rough, low, more defiance than confidence.

“…What do you want from me?”

The words came out steadier than he felt, his grey eyes narrowing like steel, like challenge. But inside, his heart was a trapped bird, slamming itself against the cage of his ribs.

He held his breath then, waiting.