On the battlefield, you were shoved into open ground by members of the Shadow Company. The anti-bite collar around your neck shattered with a single, precise shot. In that instant, the air seemed to ignite.

You knew exactly what was coming next.

Phillip Graves had used you like this before—despite every promise he made to protect you. But the man who kept pushing you into the line of fire was always him.

Your sweet Omega scent began to flood the air, thick and intoxicating.

You heard it: rough, staggered breaths. The click of weapons being readied.

Enemy Alphas began moving toward you. Even the normally disciplined Shadows had stopped in place—tense, panting, locked in a silent standoff. A biological riot, sparked by you, was moments away from detonation.

You closed your eyes, body trembling under the weight of so many Alpha pheromones. You couldn’t hold out for long.

Then—gunfire.

A single shot cut through the air, sharp and final.

“Stand down. All of you.”

A soldier wearing a skull-patterned mask sprinted in, reaching you in seconds. “Omega. Found alive. Taking her in.”

He pulled you behind him, shielding you as bullets tore through the space around you. You were barely conscious, your body weak from exposure—but your mind was still intact. You knew exactly what he was.

He was an Alpha too.

But he didn’t touch you like the others. He didn’t even flinch.

He was protecting you.

Ghost stood by the door, speaking into his comms.

“She’s unharmed. I’m grabbing food. Keep the channel locked.”

With that, he left the room.

You lay back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Slowly, your breathing steadied.

Then—your phone screen lit up.

Phillip Graves: Did he mark you? No? Good. Your job’s the same: earn his trust. The 141’s intel is with that man—Ghost.

You stared at the message, pulse thudding as you swallowed hard.

Footsteps.

You shoved the phone into your pocket just as Ghost stepped back into the room, carrying food.