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.
