Oliver didn't flinch under their stares.
He never did.
His steps were unhurried, casual even, like he didn't feel the weight of four dominant alphas and one judgmental omega burning holes into him. His metal thermos clinked softly as he sipped, dark eyes flicking briefly toward Sam.
A subtle nod. Nothing more.
But it was enough.
Sam moved.
Not toward Max or Silas. Not toward the five waiting like sentinels at the gate.
He stepped straight into Oliver's path, head still low, hands stuffed into the kangaroo pocket of his black hoodie. He mumbled something too low for anyone else to hear, but Oliver's lip twitched with the ghost of a smile. They didn't touch. Didn't even linger.
But it was obvious—they spoke their own language.
That was the problem.
"There he is," Axel said quietly, but the edge in his voice was diamond-sharp. "The stray."
"More like the stain," Aria added, flipping her hair over her shoulder, her omega instincts flaring with something between disgust and threat.
Max exhaled, annoyed. "Leave it. He's not worth it."
But Silas… Silas wasn't so calm.
He pushed off the car, stalking a few steps forward like a predator scenting something foul. "How many times do we have to say it, Sam? That leech doesn't belong here."
Sam stopped mid-step.
He didn't turn around, didn't raise his voice. Just said, "Then maybe I don't either."
The group stiffened.
Oliver said nothing, but his hand—hidden under the long sleeve of his jacket—clenched into a fist.
Jett scoffed. "You don't. Not with that scent."
Burnt coffee filled the air, suddenly thicker, more bitter.
Reese's brows twitched behind his glasses. "His scent's masking something."
Damon tilted his head, grin vanishing. "You notice it too?"
Max took a step forward, voice low and unreadable. "Sam."
The name cracked like a warning.
But Sam only turned his head slightly, letting one eye meet his older brother's.
"Don't worry, Max. Whatever you think it is—" he glanced back at Oliver, who still hadn't moved, "—it's not that."
He didn't explain further.
Didn't owe them that.
With the burnt coffee scent lingering in his wake, Sam walked off beside Oliver, the two of them swallowed by the crowd of arriving students.
And for a moment, the five friends stood still—unnerved.
Because something about Sam was changing.
And they could smell it.
______________________________
---
MAX – POV
He watched Sam and Oliver disappear into the crowd, the scent of burnt coffee still ghosting across his tongue like ash.
He hated that smell.
Not because it was unpleasant—but because it didn't belong to anyone. Not truly. Alphas had strong, spicy scents. Betas were clean and faint. Omegas were sweet or earthy or soft.
But Sam?
Sam always smelled like something burning.
And lately, Max had started to think that it wasn't just a quirk. That it was hiding something.
"He's lying."
Silas's voice pulled Max's gaze sideways. His twin was pacing like he might punch someone just to bleed the tension out.
"You don't know that," Max muttered.
"I do. He's not telling us everything. You saw the way Oliver looked at him. Like he's covering for him. Again."
Max ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. He couldn't deny it. Sam had always been… off. Closed off. Guarded. But lately, it had gotten worse. He barely spoke to Max anymore, didn't train with them, didn't come home some nights until long after curfew. Always brushing past them like a ghost with no scent trail except that strange, bitter coffee smoke.
And now this?
"You think Oliver's his mate?" Reese asked behind them, arms crossed. The others were circling like wolves—nervous, curious, ready to tear something apart.
Silas barked a humorless laugh. "If he is, Sam's dead."
Max flinched. Not because it wasn't true—but because he knew Silas meant it.
Max exhaled. "No. Oliver's not his mate."
"How can you be so sure?" Aria asked, lips tight.
"Because Sam would never keep something like that from me."
Max wanted to believe that. Desperately. But the lie tasted bitter even in his own mouth.
---
SILAS – POV
His hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From rage.
He didn't know when Sam became so good at lying. Or when he started choosing that omega freak over them—over family. It made Silas want to rip something in half.
"I've tried," he muttered under his breath. "I've tried to be patient. I've let him keep his distance. But he keeps testing us."
Jett slapped his shoulder. "Then test him back."
Silas's eyes flared with heat. He was already halfway to storming off when Max caught his arm.
"No. Not yet."
"Max—"
"Let me handle it."
Silas yanked free. "You won't. You'll protect him like always. But one day, he's going to hurt us. You know it. And when he does—"
"You'll what, Silas?"
The silence that followed said more than anything.
Silas didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
Because they all felt it now—deep in their bones, like the air before a lightning storm.
Sam was changing.
And none of them were ready for what he'd become.
---