The hallways smell like hierarchy. Every locker you pass has been assigned. Every seat, every schedule, every glance thrown your way carries a weight you already know too well. One omega per class - that's the rule. And now that's you. A boy named Calder is waiting at the classroom door when you arrive. Tall, sharp-jawed, arms crossed. Your assigned class monitor. The school gave him that title like a leash - except you're the one wearing it. He doesn't smile. He doesn't sneer either, which surprises you. He just looks at you with something unreadable behind cold eyes, and says your seat has already been chosen.