Page 3 of Dance Omega Dance

The city’s scent hit me like a wall. Hot pavement, diesel fumes, caffeine, and the unmistakable bite of alpha pheromones riding the air in jagged waves. It was disorienting after so long in hiding. I kept my head low, my hood up, my bag clutched tightly in my lap like it held my sanity.

You can do this,I told myself.You have to.

I drew a steadying breath before stepping off onto the cracked concrete of the buzzing terminal. People were shouting, laughing, taxis were honking, and heels were tapping.

Then I saw her. Maddie. A splash of violent ginger against the gray walls, bouncing on her toes like a child who'd been promised ice cream. Her face broke into that familiar grin when she spotted me, and something inside my chest loosened just a fraction. In a world designed to trap omegas like me, Maddie had always been my one constant, my tether to something resembling normal.

She stood just beyond the crowd, waving when our eyes met. Wearing black jeans and a slouchy gray sweater, her wild ginger curls were pulled into a loose braid behind her. She looked so casual, so confident. Like she didn’t even feel the suffocating tension that clung to me.

Relief cracked open inside my chest.

I moved toward her, one hesitant step at a time.

The moment I reached her, Maddie pulled me into a tight hug, burying her face in my shoulder. “You came,” she whispered.

“I did.” My voice caught. “I don’t know how.”

“You didn’t need to know how. You just needed toshow up.And you did.”

I clung to her, letting the comfort of her presence ground me for a moment longer.

Maddie pulled back, hazel eyes scanning my face like she was memorizing it. "You look tired as hell. And skinnier. Have you been eating actual food, or just those protein bars you pretend are meals?"

I shrugged. "Been busy with rehearsals." The half-truth tasted stale on my tongue.

“You ready?”

I shook my head. “Not even close.”

Maddie laughed softly. “Good. That means it matters.”

With her hand on the small of my back, she guided me toward the sidewalk, away from the crowded station and into the busy city. Taxis flew by, horns blared, the sun beat down, and for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel alone.

“Did you eat anything on the bus?” Maddie asked.

“Couldn’t keep anything down.”

She didn’t push, just nodded, understanding written across her face. “We’ll grab something later. Let’s get to the theater first.”

Shaker City hadn't changed, there were the same brick buildings with their peeling paint, the same coffee shop with its chalkboard specials, the same feeling of being slightly out of step with time. This small southern town existed in its own pocketof reality, where the harsher omega laws of neighboring states couldn't quite reach. Not yet, anyway.

"So," Maddie filled the silence as we walked, "tell me everything. How has training been? Did you finish your routine? Have you been out since I last saw you? Meet anyone interesting?" She waggled her eyebrows at the last question.

“Training is always brutal." I focused on the concrete beneath my feet. “Long days. Blisters on my blisters. The usual. And no, I didn't ‘meet anyone.’"

What I didn't say: I couldn't meet anyone when I didn’t dare venture outside. Not with my twentieth birthday looming like a guillotine. Three months until the state would legally force me to bond, to breed. Three months of freedom, if you could call it that.

"Someday," Maddie sighed dramatically, "you're going to let someone past those walls of yours, Summer Rayne. Maybe even me." She squeezed my arm, the gesture somehow both teasing and sincere.

"You're already closer than anyone," I admitted quietly. "Be satisfied with that."

We turned onto Main Street, and I instinctively tensed. More people meant more alphas. More alphas meant more risk, even with the suppressants dampening my scent. My fingers twisted into the strap of my bag, knuckles whitening.

Maddie noticed. She always noticed, but didn't comment. Instead, she launched into a story about her latest art installation, something involving recycled electronics and social commentary. I half-listened, grateful for the distraction as we navigated the crowded sidewalk.

"—and then the gallery owner wanted me to tone it down. Can you believe that? Like, what's the point of art if it doesn't make people uncomfortable?" She stopped mid-sentence, her posture shifting subtly.

I followed her gaze to a cluster of men outside the hardware store. Alphas. Something primitive and terrifying shivered along my spine. One of them, the tall one with a leather jacket turned as we approached, his nostrils flaring.

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