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Gone is the cocky, shoulder-loose swagger. His jaw locks, his shoulders draw back, and suddenly, he’s all feral intensity; less motorcycle gremlin and more chaos prince ready to burn down a ballroom with his bare hands.

Beside me, Theo goes still.

And he's still kind, still calm; but now he radiateswould-carry-you-out-of-a-fire-and-ask-permission-to-hold-your-hand-while-doing-itenergy.

Every muscle in his body saysmine.Every blink saysthreat assessment: active.

And Ash...

Ash doesn’t react.

Because Ash already knew.

There’s no surprise in his expression. Just… confirmation.

Like he’s been sitting on this ticking time bomb since he walked in, watching the countdown in real time.

And under that stillness is possession and hunger. A flicker ofoh, she’s mineacross his eyes so clear it scrapes across my skin.

They’re all staring now. Not curious, not intrigued, but focused. Tuned in.

Alpha intent.

Sharp and scent-honed and inescapable.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, behind the rising panic and molten instinct, I remember:

The OMB is here, standing in a circle of suits who could ruin my life with a clipboard and a nod.

The Omega Management Board doesn’t need to ask questions. They don’t need blood tests or legal warrants - they can smell us, just like everyone else.

And Ireek.

The suppressants are gone. The Mask is cracked.

And I am standing, exposed, in the middle of a predator-filled room with government wolves within lunging distance.

I am prey in four inch heels, and the jungle just noticed.

I can’t stay here. I can’t dothis.

I can’t even remember how to spell my name.

So I do the only logical thing left in my arsenal:

I bolt.

Full-on, panic-fueled, lipstick-still-perfect exit stage left.

No plan. No grace.

Just adrenaline, instinct, and the vague hope that nobody from the OMB is fast enough to tackle me in heels.

Some people fight. Some people freeze.

Apparently, I run like a cartoon rabbit with a death wish.

Chapter Seven

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