Ronan’s POV

Sleep didn’t come easily anymore.

Not since that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Arden standing in that training cell, calm, sharp, composed to the point of madness. Most people fold when pressed. He didn’t. He didn’t break eye contact, didn’t flinch, didn’t give me the satisfaction of knowing whether I’d actually cornered him.

And that, somehow, was worse than being lied to.

The academy was quiet after midnight. The combat rings are silent, lights dimmed, surveillance reduced to minimal cycles. The air smells of old sweat, ozone, and faint traces of dominance burned into the walls. Most Alphas sleep heavy, satisfied after a day of breaking bones and earning ranks.

I never learned how.

My dorm sat in the top east quadrant of the Alpha tower, where the high ranks were kept separate; for focus, or for containment, depending on who you asked. I sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the biometric feed flickering across my wall screen.

Arden’s name wasn’t on the active roster.

No training log. No curfew check-in.

Again.

He was getting sloppy, or confident. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

My wristband buzzed softly. A notification, internal patrol logs updating in real time. I flicked it open, scrolling until a specific ID pinged. Level-Two clearance used three minutes ago. East hall, near the data core.

Arden.

A muscle in my jaw twitched.

Three minutes.

I was already up before logic caught up with instinct.

The corridors were near-empty, the kind of silence that amplifies every sound you make. My footsteps echoed low against the composite floor, measured, even. Too fast would read as panic. Too slow as hesitation. The air tasted faintly of coolant and metal.

Halfway to the east hall, I caught it; a pulse of scent.

Not Alpha. Not exactly.

It wasn’t strong enough to trigger dominance response, but it wasn’t right either. It was like a half-formed whisper, one that made every instinct in my body focus, sharpen, wait.

He was close.

I found him at the end of the data wing — leaning over a console, the screen’s blue light washing across his face. His hair was damp, probably from training, or maybe from the suppressant’s side effects. The vein in his neck pulsed visibly as he typed, rapid and deliberate.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He didn’t startle.

Of course he didn’t.

“I Could ask you the same,” he said, still typing.

His voice was flat, quiet, but not defensive. He finished the line of code and pressed enter. The console beeped once— access denied. He didn’t look surprised.

“You don’t have clearance for this wing,” I said.

He leaned back, turning just enough to meet my eyes. “Neither do you, apparently.”

I stepped closer, just enough for the air between us to tighten. “The difference is, I don’t have anything to hide.”

That earned me a glance; brief, sharp, cutting. “Then why follow me?”

“I don’t follow,” I said. “I verify.”

He huffed, soft and humorless. “You really don’t know how to let things go, do you?”

“No.”

I moved closer, slow enough to give him a choice: step back or stand still. He didn’t move. His breathing was controlled, but the rhythm stuttered once; when I came close enough for our shadows to overlap on the wall.

“What are you looking for in that console?” I asked.

“Data.”

“What kind of data?”

“The kind that doesn’t concern you.”

My hand shot forward, catching the edge of the console and slamming it shut before he could speak again. The screen went dark. For a second, we were face to face, too close. The faint hum of the servers filled the silence like static.

“It concerns me when you start sneaking into restricted networks,” I said quietly. “You’re not just risking yourself. You’re putting every Alpha under this roof on report.”

He looked at me like the accusation was beneath him. “I’m not here to make your job easier.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” I said. “It does.”

Something flickered in his eyes; irritation, maybe. Or fear pretending to be irritated. “You think I’m running some secret plot? You think I’m weak?”

“I think you’re hiding something,” I said. “And I don’t like not knowing what it is.”

He took a slow breath, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “You can’t control everything, Ronan.”

“I can try.”

We stood there, locked in the kind of silence that hums with things unsaid. He didn’t back away, even when I leaned in slightly, close enough to feel the heat off his skin. The faint, wrong scent was stronger now, buried under suppressant, but not gone.

“You’re burning through the serum again,” I said.

He flinched so small, I almost missed it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?”

I reached out, but not to touch him. My hand hovered near his collar, the faint hum of the suppressant regulator audible if you listened closely. “You keep this thing on maximum setting, don’t you?”

He grabbed my wrist.

His grip was tight, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn.

“Stay out of my business,” he said, voice low.

I looked down at his hand, then up at his face. “You make it hard.”

“Then try harder.”

The words landed sharper than he probably intended.

We stayed like that for a long second. His eyes locked on mine, his pulse jumping in his throat. The faint scent between us shifted again; not Alpha. Not submission. Something else. Something that didn’t belong in this academy.

Something dangerous.

Slowly, he released my wrist.

“Are you done?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Not even close.”

He sighed, shoulders relaxing slightly, as if tired of pretending. “Then you’ll waste a lot of energy chasing ghosts.”

“Maybe.”

I turned toward the door, pausing halfway. “But ghosts leave trails.”

“And what will you do when you catch one?”

I met his gaze over my shoulder. “Decide if it’s worth keeping.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in the air did; a sharp crack of tension neither of us wanted to name.

I left first.

Not because I wanted to.

Because if I’d stayed one second longer, I might’ve forgotten why I came here in the first place.

Elias’s POV

The room was too quiet.

Even with the hum of the ventilation system and the faint flicker of light from the digital clock, the silence pressed in like a weight. I sat on the edge of the bunk, elbows on my knees, staring at the metal floor until the numbers on the clock blurred.

22:47.

Ronan’s voice still echoed in my head.

“If you’re going to lie, do it better.”

It hadn’t been loud, but it hit harder than a punch. The kind of words that stayed, even after the person was gone.

He’d known something. Not what, not completely, but enough to see that I wasn’t what I claimed to be.

That meant I’d slipped again.

My hand brushed the collar at my throat — the faint, silent hum steady against my pulse. It was still active, still suppressing the chemical signatures in my blood. But suppression didn’t equal erasure. And Ronan’s sense of smell wasn’t normal.

Neither was his focus.

He didn’t just watch people. He read them, the same way predators read fear. And now, I was in his sights.

I exhaled slowly and opened the small lockbox under my bunk. Inside, a row of vials lay in their foam slots, lined up like soldiers in perfect order.

Except for one — cracked along the edge, its contents dried to a faint silver residue.

That had been my last pure vial. The others were weaker blends — diluted, unstable, and only good enough for masking. Not survival. I picked one up anyway, rolling it between my fingers as if the motion itself could calm me.

It didn’t.

I needed to contact the supplier my mother once trusted. But that meant reaching beyond the Academy’s firewalls. That meant being tracked.

Risk layered over risk.

I closed the box and stood, crossing to the small sink where I splashed water on my face. Cold, sharp. It helped clear the fog in my head.

In the mirror, a stranger stared back, dark hair still damp from training, a faint bruise under my jaw where Ronan’s blow had landed earlier. The bruise would heal by morning. The damage beneath wouldn’t.

I didn’t look away until the collar pulsed once — a soft, timed reminder that another suppressant dose was due soon. I ignored it.

Not yet.

I needed my mind clear, not chemically dulled.

A soft beep broke the stillness. Door access alert.

Someone was outside.

I tensed automatically, senses narrowing. Only two people had access clearance to this floor at night — Vale and Ronan.

The second beep came faster.

I moved silently to the wall panel and checked the log.

Ronan.

Of course.

For a second, I considered not answering. But ignoring him would only feed suspicion. And Ronan wasn’t the type to leave quietly when curiosity bit deep.

I opened the door.

He didn’t wait for an invitation.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, stepping inside like the room already belonged to him.

I kept my expression neutral. “You usually do rounds at midnight?”

“I don’t usually have reasons to,” he said, eyes scanning the space. “Until now.”

I didn’t reply.

He looked different out of training gear, still in black, but without the academy crest jacket. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, veins visible, tension controlled but present. Every movement was measured.

Predator calm.

“You always this quiet?” he asked finally.

“Depends who’s asking.”

His mouth twitched, almost like he found that amusing. “You didn’t report for med clearance after training.”

“I wasn’t injured.”

“That’s not the kind of report I meant.”

He let the words hang. I met his gaze and said nothing.

Ronan took another slow step closer. “You were in the restricted wing.”

“You said that already.”

“I also said you don’t have clearance.”

“Neither do you,” I shot back.

For a heartbeat, the tension snapped taut. Then his eyes narrowed slightly; not angry, just sharper.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not the one hiding what I am.”

My pulse spiked. I hid it with a slow breath.

“You really like making accusations without proof.”

“And you really like giving me reasons to look closer.”

He stopped right in front of me, barely a foot away. Too close. His scent; dark, earthy, steady, filled the space, threading through the sterile air. I’d spent years controlling my reactions, but proximity was dangerous.

Especially with an Alpha this strong.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes studying my face like he could strip away the lie with a look.

“Your scent,” he said quietly, “doesn’t match your records.”

My jaw tightened. “Maybe the scanners are wrong.”

“They’re not.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just waited.

The room felt smaller with him in it.

My voice came out steady, even if my heartbeat wasn’t. “What exactly do you think I am?”

He leaned in just enough for his breath to graze my skin. “Something worth finding out.”

I stepped back. “You should leave.”

“I should,” he said, not moving. “But I won’t.”

“Why?”

He smiled — small, humorless. “Because you’re lying to me, and I hate unfinished puzzles.”

There it was again; that quiet, restrained curiosity that made him more dangerous than anyone shouting threats. He wasn’t trying to expose me. Not yet. He wanted to understand me first.

And that was worse.

“Go,” I said, sharper this time.

He studied me a beat longer, then nodded once. “Fine. But Arden…” his tone softened just slightly …“whatever secret you’re keeping, you’re running out of time to hide it.”

He turned toward the door.

And then, just as he opened it, the air shifted.

The faintest pulse of heat slid under my skin. Too quick. Too small. But enough for a trace of my true scent to slip through the suppressant’s control.

It wasn’t much. Barely a whisper.

But Ronan froze mid-step.

He didn’t turn around immediately, he didn’t need to. The muscle in his jaw flexed once. Then, slowly, he looked back over his shoulder.

His eyes met mine; darker than before, sharper.

And I knew.

He’d caught it.

Only for a second, but enough to confirm what instinct had already told him: I wasn’t an Alpha.

Not fully.

I kept my posture steady, forcing the suppressant to level out again, locking everything down until the faint chemical buzz returned.

Ronan said nothing.

He didn’t have to.

He just nodded once more to himself than me and walked out, the door sliding shut behind him.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before.

I sank back against the wall, breath uneven, the metallic taste of fear sharp in my mouth. My collar’s pulse steadied again, but it felt like a countdown now, not a protection.

Ronan wasn’t guessing anymore.

He knew.

And the worst part?...He wasn’t going to expose me.Not yet.

He was going to watch and wait.Until he understood everything.