She's crying.
Has been crying.
Is still crying, silent tears leaking from those devastating eyes even as she stares at me with an expression I can't quite read.
Confusion.
Recognition.
Something that might be hope—tentative, terrified, barely daring to exist.
Fuck.
Whether in cynical joy or immense sorrow, whether broken or whole, whether in costume or in ruin?—
She is truly a wonder within this cruel world.
Absolutely beautiful.
The most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
And she doesn't even know it.
Doesn't know that she's the only color in my grayscale existence. Doesn't know that I've been reading her letters likescripture for five years, memorizing every word, tracing the loops of her handwriting like they were holy text.
Doesn't know that I would burn empires for her.
Destroy my own pack's mission.
Betray everything I've ever sworn loyalty to.
Just to keep her safe.
What a lethal weakness this Omega’s existence has become…
I move before I can second-guess myself.
My hand reaches out—slow, deliberate, giving her time to flinch away if she wants to—and hooks around the front of her throat.
Not grabbing.
Not squeezing.
Just...holding.
The way an Alpha holds an Omega when they want attention. When they wantobedience.
When they want to communicate something primal that words can't quite capture.
She goes perfectly still.
Her pulse hammers against my palm—rapid, frantic, a trapped bird's heartbeat. But she doesn't pull away. Doesn't reach for the blades I know are sheathed at her back. Doesn't do anything except stand there, staring up at me with those ruined eyes, waiting.
My thumb rises.
Traces across her lower lip.
The dark red lipstick she applied so carefully has smeared, bleeding beyond its borders, making her mouth look like a wound. I drag my thumb through the color, spreading it further, marking her with the touch the way her blood marks every letter she sends.
