The stone corridor is cold and dim, lit only by flickering torchlight that throws long shadows across the floor. You press your back against the wall, knees pulled close, a bruise darkening along your jaw from where someone's fist found you again. Your suppressants are failing. You can feel it - a slow unraveling, like smoke bleeding through a cracked seal. The scent rising off your skin is not just omega. It is something older and darker underneath. Footsteps echo around the corner. Then they stop. Draco Malfoy stands there, grey eyes locked on you with an intensity that doesn't look like cruelty for once. His jaw is tight. His alpha instincts are written plainly across his face, whether he wants them to be or not. He doesn't know yet what your blood carries. Neither does anyone else. But the secret is already starting to break.