Page 63 of Unmarked

Not through a bond - there isn’t one.Yet.But through the kind of instinct that predates logic and has no interest in permission.

My canines ache. My spine tightens.

I exhale slowly, evenly, keeping it contained.

But something low and feral scrapes at the back of my throat.

Kai stumbles a step back from the wall like he's just been tasered. “She’s -fuck, she’s doing it.”

“She’s so strong,” Theo says quietly. “She’s trying so hard to do it all by herself.”

Ash doesn’t speak. He’s braced like a weapon - knuckles pale, jaw locked, eyes glued to the steel door like he’s trying not to break it down.

I know the feeling.

Kai is jittery, pacing again.“I canfeelher,” he pants. “I can -shit, she’s loud. Is she..? I think she’s -”

“Donotfinish that sentence,” I warn him.

He stops pacing long enough to glare at me.

“Don’t act like you don’t smell it, Vale. You’re not magically above us just because you're standing there like some kind of sex-proof gargoyle.”

“I do,” I say, tone flat. “But I’m not leaking pheromones like a teenager in rut. You need to get a grip.”

“Alright, alright,” Theo interjects, holding up his hands like a peace offering. “Let’s not tear each other apart. Deep breaths. Maybe a cold shower, some group meditation. Anyone want a juice box?”

Ash snorts. Kai doesn’t.

My teeth press tighter.

They’re too loud. Too present. Tooin the way.

I lean against the far wall and cross my arms.

Mistake number one: letting them come along.

Mistake number two: not slamming the panic room shut behind me and pretending I’d never met them.

And yet, here I am. Babysitting three emotionally volatile alphas outside a room currently occupied by the sexiest logistical disaster I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I’ve seen her before - too many times.

First time was a coffee shop in the Lower District - camera in hand, hair in a messy knot, face full of stubborn focus. She looked like someone about to fistfight a pastry.

She smelled like nothing. Neutral. Boring. Invisible.

Beta.

Not worth noticing - but I noticed her anyway.

And then, I couldn'tstopnoticing her.

Every week, there she was. Crossing streets I didn’t mean to drive down. Popping up at places I didn’t mean to be.

I chalked it up to coincidence.

But coincidences don’t make your instincts sing like a war drum, and now, inside that room, she’s burning.

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