That smile directed up at Riot, those soft lips parted, the way they’d feel against his own, or against his throat, or wrapped around his—
Fuck.
Riot forced his gaze away, but it took longer than it should have. The fantasy clung, sticky and persistent, refusing to dissolve. He had to physically shake his head to clear it, earning a strange look from a passing civilian who probably thought he was having some kind of episode.
Though this definitely qualified as some kind of episode.
This was what happened when he split his doses too many times—his chemistry went haywire, his impulse controldegraded from “questionable” to “nonexistent,” and his brain started treating random attractive Omegas like they were the solution to all his problems. It didn’t mean anything. It was just biology, just the modifications Gensyn had shoved into him demanding an outlet.
It had never been this intense before, though. Not even when he had his ass kicked in these same alleys seven months ago for approaching a near-feral Omega in heat and an active Gensyn operative. This whole thing was just a perfect storm of inconvenient timing.
Cass had moved on, continuing through the marketplace with his bag of supplies and his recruitment pamphlets. Riot followed, maintaining his distance, watching the pattern repeat itself over and over.
Approach. Rejection. Hurt. Move on. Try again.
The failed recruitment attempts were painful to witness—not because they were surprising, but because Cass kept walking into them with the same earnest hope each time, like maybe this person would be different. Like maybe this time someone would actually want what he was offering.
Cass approached a lone figure at a textile stall—a young person with the hollow-eyed look of someone who’d run out of options a long time ago. A perfect target for any genuine missionary.
“Excuse me,” Cass began. “I couldn’t help but notice you seem like someone carrying burdens that collective harmony could lighten.”
Riot winced. It was like watching someone try to defuse a bomb with a hammer.
“Another Elysian cultist.” The target didn’t even look up from the fabric they were examining. “Just what this market needs.”
“I’m not—” Cass stopped himself, wringing his hands together as he looked at the ground, already defeated. “I’m sorry if Ibothered you. It’s just that you looked sad, and I thought maybe—”
“You thought maybe your little harmony cult could fix me?” The person’s laugh was bitter and brief. “No thanks. I’ve seen what happens to people who go for ‘spiritual evolution.’ They come back wrong. Get the fuck away from me.”
The words hit Cass visibly, his whole body flinching as if he’d been struck. “I don’t understand. Elysian helps people find purpose and belonging. We’re a community—”
“Sure you are.” The person was already walking away. “Go peddle your bullshit somewhere else.”
Cass stood frozen for a moment, his lower lip sucked between his teeth and his eyes beginning to glisten. Then he straightened his shoulders and moved on to look for someone else.
Cass had to know, on some level. Buried under all that programming and conditioning, Cass knew something was wrong with what Elysian did. He just couldn’t let himself see it clearly.
The recognition twisted in Riot’s gut, protectiveness and frustration tangling together into his one constant desire—wanting to hit something. Or fuck. Preferably someone with long blond hair and pretty tears…
He’s not yours to protect. He’s not yours at all.
But logic was failing him; his desires had locked onto Cass like a targeting system, and every rejection the kid suffered, every flinch, every slump of those narrow shoulders made something hot and dangerous build higher in Riot’s chest.
By midday, Cass had made at least ten more attempts, each one met with some variation of rejection. Polite refusal, open hostility, silent dismissal. Two people listened long enough to take his pamphlets before crumpling them up and throwing them away in full view of him. And through it all, Cass kepttrying. Kept smiling. Kept seeming to believe that the next person might be different.
It was either the most admirable thing Riot had ever seen or the most tragic. Possibly both. The universe seemed to enjoy that kind of overlap.
The food vendor section was crowded during lunch hours. Riot watched from the shadow of a support column as Cass counted his iscs carefully, his lips moving slightly as he did the math, then purchased the cheapest protein wrap available—a synthetic soy product that Riot was fairly certain qualified as food only in the most technical legal sense.
I bought him a real breakfast four hours ago and he’s already back to eating garbage.
But Cass didn’t even get to eat the garbage.
Before he could take a single bite, his attention caught on something—a gaunt figure huddled in the shadows between stalls, barely visible in the noon crowd. Without hesitation, Cass walked over and offered his lunch.
The figure snatched it with the desperate speed of the chronically hungry and retreated without a word. Cass watched them go, then found a bench and sat down, his hands empty, his stomach presumably as empty as it had been before Riot fed him this morning.
You absolute fucking idiot.
