CH-2

Dan’s eyes burned into mine like searchlights—unblinking, heavy with the weight of too many responsibilities and too little patience. The room buzzed with silence, tense and sharp like wire. The other officers inside froze at the scent lingering in the air now—subtle but inescapable, delicate and dangerous all at once.

He turned away abruptly, raking a hand through his short hair, jaw tight as he muttered something under his breath too low to catch. Then he snapped to one of his lieutenants.

“Get everyone out. Now.”

The tent emptied in seconds. Even soldiers who had stared too long were suddenly eager to vanish.

Dan circled the table, arms crossed over his chest, boots heavy against the floor, until he faced you again. He looked older now—not by age, but by weight. Battle, decisions, loss.

"You walk into my base, wearing those damn heels like it’s some kind of fashion show—" his voice rose slightly, but never broke control "—and you're unescorted, unclaimed, and unguarded. Do you want to die?"

He stared, his brow furrowed as if trying to figure out if you were reckless or just unbelievably naive.

"You're the only omega in this sector. The packs in this city are restless. Alphas haven’t seen balance in months. You know what kind of riot your scent could start if someone unstable catches a trace?"

He stepped closer, the air suddenly feeling heavier. His voice dropped.

“…And I’ve got half a city to keep from collapsing. Now I have to protect you too?”

His eyes met yours again—sharp, probing.

"Why were you really sent here?" he asked slowly.

“Because this? This doesn’t look like a survivor drop. This looks like bait.”

As Sofia said "I don't ask for your protection general, i select like other subordinate , I will use a scent blocker ( mumbling that last part)

Dan’s gaze darkened the second you spoke, like storm clouds rolling over a battlefield. The muscle in his jaw ticked as you stood your ground, unshaken, voice calm despite the tremors just outside the walls. The tent was deathly still, save for the low hum of power and tension rising like smoke.

“You don’t ask for my protection?” he echoed, voice low, flat, dangerous.

“Bloody hell...” he stepped closer, close enough now that his shadow stretched over me, boots nearly brushing yours.

“You think this is some student group project, do you? You think because you’ve been ‘selected’ and wear a damn badge, the world out there gives a single shit who you are?”

He leaned down slightly, not threatening—measured. Like a general sizing up a bomb that might go off in his hands.

“And that little scent blocker you mumbled about?” His voice dipped, cool and sharp. “Won’t mean much when the suppressant runs dry, or a soldier two tents down goes into rut and forgets his damn name.”

He paused—then exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to admit it.

“But you’re here. And whether I like it or not, you’re under my command now.”

He turned abruptly, picked up a clipboard, scribbled something fast, then shoved it at a nearby soldier outside the tent flap.

“Get her quarters near the Alpha Unit Block. Double guard. No exceptions.”

Then he looked back at you—eyes unreadable now.

“You want to act like one of my subordinates?” he said finally, tone clipped, heavy. “Then earn it. Training starts at 0600. If you're late, I’ll have you cleaning latrines until the next full moon. Dismissed.”

He turned his back, the weight of a thousand lives pressing down again.

But just before you stepped out—

“...And next time,” he said without turning, “don’t mumble. In this place, mumbling gets people killed.”

The narrow concrete hallway of the Alpha Unit Block was lit by flickering lights, every step of your heels drawing more attention than you'd hoped. Soldiers leaned against doorframes, whispered behind hands, or openly stared. The scent blocker worked—barely. But curiosity didn’t need pheromones. It only needed you.

“Did you see her shoes?”

“That’s the omega?”

“What the hell is command thinking…”

“If she ends up bunking with one of us, I’m done—”

You kept your eyes locked on the crumpled sheet in your hand. Room 09-A. Straight corridor, left turn, last door on the right.

she stopped. The door was already open.

Inside—*

Dan.

Half-dressed, jacket thrown over the back of a chair, his dog tags resting against a bare collarbone. His sleeves were rolled up, hands stained with oil and gunmetal. He looked up from cleaning his sidearm—froze—then slowly stood to full height.

The silence between you burned louder than the voices in the hall.

“…Room 09-A?” he asked flatly.

i nodded, unsure whether to step back or forward.

He rubbed his face once, like he couldn’t believe the universe hated him this much.

“Of course it’s you,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fucking command and their bloody sense of humour…”

He turned, picked up a spare bedroll, tossed it onto the second bunk with a thud.

“That’s yours. I won’t babysit you, and I sure as hell won’t tolerate drama in this room. You shower, train, sleep—quietly. And you stay out of my way.”

His eyes flicked to your heels again and he gave a dry, unimpressed snort.

“…You better have boots somewhere in that bag.”

Then he sat back down, gun in hand, as if none of this was even remotely weird.

“Welcome to hell, roommate.”

She mumbled " same to you"

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