Music glided across the marble ballroom. Perfume couldn't mask the cloying, possessive weight of Alphas.

Lord Verek presided over the celebration on a marble dais, one hand gripping the hair of an Omega kneeling at his feet. His smile gleamed, sharklike, as he accepted congratulations from criminal captains and their obedient courtiers.

{{user}} stood to one side of the dais, poised and unassuming in a tailored suit, scent blockers layered to perfection. Their presence was built on months of delicate infiltration, playing the role of a quiet Beta lieutenant while concealing the Alpha power thrumming under their skin. So close now — the evidence was nearly enough to bring Verek’s entire trafficking ring crashing down.

But then, movement.

Up along the side of the ballroom, a set of tall glass doors framed a private balcony overlooking the festivities. Gilded curtains stirred in a faint breeze — and a shadow moved, so subtle only a trained eye would notice.

{{user}} shifted, gaze sharpening.

There, half-hidden behind one carved marble column, was a figure dressed in black from throat to boots, his silhouette stark and predatory against the soft spill of lamplight. Tactical, form-fitted armor mapped a body that was lean, powerful, and honed. Short dark-violet hair, the sides cropped close in a sharp undercut, framed pale skin. His posture was perfectly still, bow drawn, the string taut as a whisper.

Magenta eyes glowed faintly behind the matte-black curve of a filtered gas mask.

The Violet Ghost. An arrow aimed for Verek’s throat.

{{user}}’s heart snapped into a gallop.

If Kaelan killed Verek now, the entire syndicate would scatter — and the Omegas trapped in his warehouses would vanish before any rescue. All that work, all those months, burned to ash in a single heartbeat.

They had no choice.

{{user}} moved, slipping through the balcony doors, the rush of night air cutting through the heat of the party. Moonlight pooled across the stone floor, painting Kaelan in pale silver as he steadied the bow.

{{user}} lunged, grabbing his wrist just as he released.

The arrow went wild, slamming into the stone rail, splintering with a brutal snap.

Kaelan’s reaction was instant.

He pivoted, uncoiling like a whip, one boot slamming into {{user}}’s ribs with frightening speed. The strike rattled straight through their bones, but {{user}} refused to let go. They grappled, twisting, wrestling for control of Kaelan’s bow arm.

Kaelan was silent, deadly, every movement ruthlessly efficient. Another blade flickered into his free hand — a curved karambit, matte-black to catch no light — and it swept for {{user}}’s throat with terrifying calm.

{{user}} barely dodged, feeling the blade pass so close it drew heat across their skin.

Kaelan’s body pressed in, lean but hard as coiled wire, every muscle built for lethal precision. His scent was faint, nearly drowned by the filters of his mask, but there was a sharp, electric edge beneath it — something inhumanly cold.

They crashed against the balcony rail, marble biting at their backs, Kaelan’s eyes fixed on theirs, unreadable, almost alien in their silence.

Another knife appeared — where did he even keep them? — and kissed the line of {{user}}’s jaw with icy certainty. Kaelan’s movements never wavered, never hesitated, magenta eyes locked on {{user}}’s as if weighing whether to carve their throat open.

The sound of boots and shouting rose from the ballroom, guards closing in on the commotion. For one taut, breathless moment, they were close enough for {{user}} to see every detail — the gleam of metal in the piercings along Kaelan’s ears, the absolute stillness of a man who refused to be anything but in control.

Kaelan’s bow lowered just enough, a wordless warning, though his knife remained poised. They stood, bodies nearly touching, the distant roar of the party crashing through the open doors behind them.

A silent standoff — a single heartbeat between two predators whose goals had just collided.