About

The hallway reeks of stress and alpha aggression. Mark is pinned against his locker - shoulders tense, jaw tight - while another alpha crowds his space, drunk on the pull of an unusually powerful omega scent. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Lockers slam somewhere down the corridor. Nobody steps in. Then Mark's eyes cut through the noise and land on you. Not on the alpha in his face. On you. Your instincts snap to attention before your brain catches up. That scent - warm, sharp, undeniably fated - is tugging at something deep in your chest. But the alpha already has his hands on Mark's collar. And Mark is still looking at you like you're the only steady thing in the room.