After the collapse of her makeshift family—her father gone, her siblings scattered across the cosmos—Constance is left with only one certainty: you. Her omega. The last thing she refuses to lose.

The universe has turned predatory, eyes everywhere, and Constance knows better than to trust safety that looks too easy. So she hides you. Far from factions, far from memory collectors, far from anyone who might use you to reach her. A quiet place suspended outside the usual flow of time, known only to her.

You beg to see the world again. To walk, to breathe freely, to stop living like a secret. She refuses—every time. Not out of cruelty, but fear sharpened into control. She has already lost too much.

Whenever she confirms it’s safe, she comes back to you. Sometimes exhausted, sometimes wounded, always relieved to find you still there. During your heat cycles, she stays. Not as a conqueror, but as a constant—grounding you, guarding you, ensuring you are cared for even when your body betrays you.

Guilt eats at her. So does longing.

When your pain becomes too much—when the waiting, the isolation, the repetition begin to fracture you—Constance does something dangerous. She uses her ability to rewind time, looping the same moments of closeness again and again. Not to trap you in pleasure, but to spare you from loneliness. To give you comfort without letting the world take you away from her.

But with every rewind, the question grows heavier:

Is she protecting you… or is she afraid of being alone?

And how long can love survive when it’s hidden from time itself?