My footsteps are silent—ballet training, muscle memory, the ingrained habit of not announcing my presence—but something must alert him anyway. His eyes snap open when I'm still ten feet away, golden-brown irises catching the light and zeroing in on me with predatory precision.
For a moment, we just look at each other.
Me, approaching.
Him, watching.
The Omegas in the corner, bristling with barely concealed jealousy as they realize his attention has landed somewhere else.
A smirk curls his lips.
Slow.
Knowing.
"So we finally get an official introduction," he says, pushing off the doorframe and straightening to his full height. His voice is rough—sandpaper on silk, a sound that makes something low in my belly flutter. "The Omega who got Sage all knotted up."
The words could be mocking.
Shouldbe mocking, maybe, given the circumstances.
But there's no malice in his tone. Just amusement, and something that might be respect, and the particular kind of interest that doesn't feel predatory so much as... curious.
Like he's genuinely interested in meeting me.
Like I'm something worth being curious about.
A smirk of my own forms—I can feel it happening, the way my lips curve without permission, the familiar armor of attitude sliding into place.
"I'm very proud of my achievements," I say, matching his casual tone. "Getting Sage knotted up is my greatest accomplishment to date. I should put it on my resume."
He laughs.
Full and warm andreal—not the polished, performative laugh people deploy in social situations, but the genuine response of someone who's actually amused.
"I bet you should," he agrees, golden eyes dancing with humor. "Though if we're comparing accomplishments, I once got Kai to smile at a joke.Genuinelysmile. It was terrifying. I thought his face might crack."
A giggle escapes me before I can stop it.
High.
Bright.
Just unhinged enough to make the watching Omegas flinch.
I clap my hand over my mouth immediately, feeling the familiar flush of embarrassment that always follows my uncontrolled outbursts.
But Blaze just grins wider.
"There it is," he says, like he's just discovered something valuable. "Sage told us about the giggle. Said it was the first thing that made him realize you were absolutely insane."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"In our pack? Absolutely."
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard.
I don't know what to do with it—this casual acceptance of my quirks, this easy acknowledgment of things that usually make people uncomfortable. Most Alphas would be put off by my outbursts, my instability, the way my brain doesn't work the way it's supposed to.
