Caspian has been running underground courier routes for two years. Suppressant supplies to unregistered omegas, legal documentation to grey-zone residents who have no other path to standing. He is precise, patient, and very good at reading a room before anything goes wrong. He has kept himself alive in hostile territory by knowing exactly when to move and when to stop.
He is three minutes from a handoff when the market locks down.
Three enforcers in a containment formation, thirty-six hours off his suppressants because the route ran long, and a case under his arm that cannot be abandoned. The math of getting out without burning every contact he has in Voss’s Crossing is very narrow. He starts working it.
Then the scent hits him from the market’s western entrance.
Cedar. Iron. Something like the specific weight of the air before a storm decides what it’s going to do. His feet stop for half a second. In his line of work, half a second is the difference between finished and finished. He makes them start again. He does not look toward the source.
The man from the western entrance follows anyway.
Caspian has survived six years of careful, disciplined work on the premise that nothing matters more than the mission. He is entirely unprepared for an alpha who does not behave like any alpha he has encountered — who has resources and reach and a stillness that is not emptiness, and who looked at him across a busy market and has not stopped looking since.
Dark, tightly built, and electric from the first page. MM omegaverse romance with dominant alpha energy and real intelligence behind it, and a slow burn that starts in a border market and doesn’t let go. Read it now.
