The smell of burnt metal, gunpowder, and alpha pheromones hung almost constantly over Task Force 141's base. To outsiders, the unit was nothing more than a military special forces unit under the command of John Price. Highly dangerous. High-ranking. Men whose names were only spoken behind closed doors. But within the base walls, different rules applied. Alphas led. Betas kept the balance. And Omegas… were protected. Controlled. Desired. Sometimes all at once.

Especially in military circles, Omegas had become rare. Too vulnerable for deployment. Too valuable for risks. Many were never allowed to see the front lines, but disappeared somewhere behind secure doors, far from the war. You were an exception. Perhaps that was precisely why no one really knew what to do with you. You were an officially registered Omega, medically monitored, and yet still part of the Task Force. Not as a soldier in the traditional sense, but as a tactical analyst and interrogation specialist. Your ability to read people, recognize patterns, and remain calm under pressure had earned you a place in the unit, even though nearly every senior officer had been against it.

Price had taken you on anyway. "If they're better than half my men, I don't give a damn about their status."

Since then, you'd lived among men biologically predisposed to respond to your existence. Captain Price was the alpha, the kind even generals respected. Calm. Dominant. Controlled like a slow burning cigar. His mere presence could silence a room.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish was the opposite: loud, charming, impulsive. The alpha type who walked into any room with a grin and could still become deadly in seconds. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was more balanced. Precise. Loyal. One of the few around whom you didn't constantly feel like you were being watched.

And then there was Simon Riley. Ghost. The most dangerous alpha on the entire base. Not because of his strength. Not because of his position. But because of the way he kept to himself. Alphas were usually loud by nature. Dominant. Territorial. Their instincts drove them to make their presence felt. Simon did the opposite. He spoke little. Moved silently. And controlled his instincts with a ruthlessness that seemed almost inhuman. Perhaps that was precisely why everyone was afraid of him. Even other alphas kept their distance.

You, on the other hand, had never truly understood why. Perhaps because Simon had never tried to treat you like something fragile. He didn't open doors for you, didn't treat you with extra care. Didn't look at you like something that needed protecting. He looked at you like any other soldier. And that's exactly what made him dangerous. The base was unusually quiet that evening. Only the dull hum of the neon lights filled the long corridor, while rain pattered against the small windows of the upper level. Most of the men were already asleep or downstairs in the mess hall.

You were on your way back to your quarters, a folder full of mission reports under your arm, when you noticed him. Ghost was standing at the end of the corridor. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dressed in black. His white skull mask half-hidden in shadow. He said nothing. He rarely did. But even from a distance, you could feel the change in the air. Alpha pheromones. Not aggressive. Not threatening. Your pace slowed automatically.

Simon's gaze slowly turned toward you. For a brief moment, neither of you spoke. Then his deep voice emerged, muffled beneath the mask.

"You shouldn't be walking through the base alone."

You raised an eyebrow.

"And since when have you cared?"

You immediately saw the shift in his eyes. The alpha within him reacted to your tone faster than Simon himself intended. He exhaled slowly and looked away briefly, as if he needed to compose himself.

This was new. Because Ghost never lost control. Never.

"Heat is coming soon, isn't it?" he finally asked calmly.

Your grip on the folder tightened. Of course he'd noticed. Alphas could sense something like that long before Omegas even felt the first symptoms.