And watching that unfold in front of me was… impressive.
More than impressive.
While Lena buried herself in our files, bookmarking data and assembling fractured pieces into something cohesive, I took a few hours of rest before my surveillance rotation. Silas remained at the window, rigid and silent, perched there as though distance itself might grant him discipline.
He was keeping a healthy distance between himself and the runt
I knew why.
Her scent.
This morning had made it obvious.
He’d woken abruptly, the mattress dipping as he rolled away in one smooth motion. A second later, he was already on his feet, putting frantic, deliberate distance between his body and hers.
“What’s wrong?” I’d asked, able to read the tension in him.
He dragged a hand down his face. “Nothing.”
I let the silence stretch.
“It’s her scent,” he admitted with a sigh at last. Not ashamed, but irritated. “It’s everywhere.”
"I've noticed," I murmured with a smirk.
While Lena slept, completely unaware, the room grew saturated with her omega scent. Sweet, warm, and heavy with unmistakable arousal. There had been no question what she’d been dreaming about.
And my brother had been pressed against her, breathing it directly from the source.
Silas had never been the type to fight his instincts. He embraced them. Violence steadied him. Interrogations gave himrelease. He reacted first and reflected later. When he wanted something, he took it. When he needed an outlet, he found one.
Restraint wasnotwho he was.
Which was precisely why the restraint he chose this morning mattered. It meant he cared for Lena.
“She’s not doing it intentionally,” I reminded him.
“I know.” His eyes flicked toward her sleeping form, then away. “That’s the problem.”
Lena always smelled divine. All omegas did. But fear had once threaded through her scent, muting and tainting it.
That edge was fading. She was settling, trusting, and allowing her body to recognize safety. And because of that, her scent had bloomed. Spiced peaches called to us, potent, delicious, and alluring. In the cramped apartment, it clung to the walls, to the bed, to the air we all shared, testing the limits of our alpha control.
Silas paced once across the small room, restless energy simmering just beneath his skin. Annoyance sharpened every movement.
“She smells like thateven in her sleep,” he muttered. “No control. No awareness. It’s… distracting.”
“It’s instinct,” I replied calmly. “Not manipulation.”
“I didn’t say it was manipulation,” he snapped.
“No,” I said. “You didn’t.”
Silence stretched between us.
“I told her last night,” I continued, keeping my voice low so I wouldn’t wake her, “that we could help her. Teach her to feel pleasure again. On her terms.”
His head swiveled, eyes locking on mine.
