The courtyard smells like tension — concrete warm under afternoon sun, the low rumble of your pack at your back. Techno's crew stands opposite, still as statues. Someone's alpha has their teeth showing. One wrong move and a century of peace shatters on school asphalt. Then Wilbur Soot steps into the gap. Tall, unhurried, like he owns the air between two warring sides. His eyes sweep the crowd — and stop. On you. You're an alpha-omega. Born once a decade. You carry both dominance and rarity in the same breath, and something in Wilbur just felt it. Techno already knew. He's been watching you since you walked in. Tommy hasn't figured it out yet. He just knows you won't back down — and that infuriates him. The truce is Wilbur's bloodline. But you? You might be the thing that breaks his composure entirely.