The file on my desk was thicker than most military dossiers I'd reviewed.
SERENA VALE
AGE: 28
DESIGNATION: Omega
OCCUPATION: Recording artist, solo performer
THREAT LEVEL: Amber (elevated stalking behavior)
SECURITY HISTORY: None (declined previous proposals)
I flipped through performance stills, public appearances, paparazzi shots. In every image, she looked untouchable—perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect control. The kind of omega who'd never had to fight for anything in her life.
"What do you think?" Ash leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. My second-in-command had the build of someone who solved problems with violence first and questions later.
"Spoiled celebrity who finally realized being famous makes you a target?"
Ash's expression shifted—not quite defensive, but close. "Have you actually listened to her music?"
I glanced up. "Does it matter?"
"*Ashes and Echoes*." He pushed off the doorframe, moving into the office. "That's the album that made her famous. The whole thing's about loss and rebuilding. There's this one track—*Fractured*—where she hits notes that shouldn't be physically possible. It's..." He trailed off, catching my look. "What I'm saying is, she's not just some manufactured pop star. There's real depth there."
"Depth doesn't stop bullets, Ash."
"No, but it suggests there's more going on than we're seeing." He nodded at the file. "Marcus wouldn't have recommended us if it were that simple. He said she's different."
"Different how?"
"He didn't specify." Which bothered me more than I wanted to admit. Marcus Vale had served in my unit for three years—Delta Force operations that didn't officially exist. He was precise, paranoid, and protective of his younger sister to a degree that bordered on obsessive.
If Marcus was worried, there was a reason.
"Look, I know what you're thinking," Ash continued. "Another omega who needs saving, probably high-maintenance, probably thinks her fame means normal rules don't apply. But her music—it's not what you'd expect from someone who's had everything handed to them. *Fractured* especially. That song comes from somewhere real."
I studied him. Ash didn't gush. About anything. The fact that he was defending someone we hadn't even met yet told me more than the file had.
"Lucien finished the background analysis," I said, redirecting. "What did he find?"
Ash accepted the subject change, though his jaw tightened slightly. "No red flags. Clean financial records, no substance abuse, no concerning associations. Just a very successful omega who happens to be stalked by someone skilled enough to evade standard security protocols."
"And the stalker profile?"
"Patient. Organized. No escalation to violence yet, but the pattern suggests building toward an endgame. Photos, flowers, letters that demonstrate intimate knowledge of her schedule and private spaces."
I stood, grabbing my jacket. "Then we treat this like an active threat. Riven's setting up surveillance infrastructure at her residence. Lucien's analyzing all communication channels. You and I will conduct the initial assessment."
"You mean you'll judge whether she's worth the contract, and I'll try not to say something that gets us fired." Ash grinned, some of his usual edge returning. "Got it."
"She's already worth the contract. Marcus wouldn't have asked otherwise." I headed for the door, pausing to look back at him. "The question is whether she'll cooperate with our protocols."
"Omega celebrity who's used to getting her way?" Ash's grin faded into something more serious. "Maybe. Or maybe someone who's learned the hard way that being in the spotlight makes you vulnerable. Either way, we'll find out soon enough."
"Then we'll adapt." I checked my phone—thirty minutes until the meeting. "But we're not bending on fundamentals. If she's in danger, she follows our lead. No exceptions."
"Even if she doesn't like it?"
"Especially if she doesn't like it."
We walked through Silverthorne Security's main operations floor. The space had been a warehouse once, all exposed brick and steel beams, before we'd converted it into something functional. Workstations lined the perimeter, each equipped with multiple monitors displaying security feeds, data analysis, and communication channels. The center held our tactical planning area—digital map tables, secure briefing rooms, armory access.
Riven looked up from his station as we passed, violet eyes sharp behind his glasses. "Preliminary surveillance assessment is ready when you need it."
"Send it to my tablet," I said. "Anything concerning?"
"Her building has decent physical security, but the digital infrastructure is a joke. I could breach her home network in under three minutes." He pushed his glasses up. "If I can do it, so can whoever's targeting her."
"Add a full cybersecurity overhaul to the proposal."
"Already done." Riven's fingers flew across his keyboard. "Also flagged some unusual activity on her social media accounts. Could be the stalker testing access points, could be standard fan behavior. I'll know more once we have direct access to her devices."
Lucien emerged from one of the briefing rooms, tablet in hand. Our analyst moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who preferred information to action, though I'd seen him handle himself in the field when necessary. "The stalker's communications show linguistic patterns consistent with higher education—possibly medical or scientific background. The flower arrangements specifically reference her song lyrics, but with disturbing modifications."
"Modifications how?" Ash asked.
"Where her lyrics speak of healing, the stalker's messages speak of perfection. Where she sings about choice, they reference destiny." Lucien's expression remained neutral, but his knuckles whitened slightly on the tablet. "It's obsession framed as devotion."
"So we're dealing with someone who thinks they understand her better than she understands herself," I said. "Classic delusional attachment."
"With the resources and patience to bypass standard security," Lucien added. "That combination makes them dangerous."
I nodded. "Which is why we're going full protective detail if she accepts the contract. Ash, you'll handle close protection coordination. Riven, all digital security and surveillance. Lucien, threat analysis and behavioral assessment. I'll manage overall strategy and client interface."
"The full pack treatment," Ash said. "She's going to love that."
"She's going to accept it," I corrected. "Because the alternative is waiting for her stalker to escalate from flowers to something worse."
My phone buzzed. Marcus.
*She's nervous. Don't be an asshole.*
I showed the message to Ash, who laughed. "That's Marcus telling you to be diplomatic. We're doomed."
"I can be diplomatic."
"You told our last potential client that his security setup was 'an amateur's suicide note' within the first five minutes."
"It was."
"And he hired us anyway, but still." Ash grabbed his keys. "Maybe let me take the lead on the social niceties?"
"Fine." I headed for the door. "But I'm not sugarcoating the threat assessment. If she's in danger, she needs to understand exactly how serious it is."
"Agreed. But we can deliver hard truths without making her feel like an idiot for not seeing them herself."
Fair point. We reached my truck—a black Tahoe with enough modifications to handle both urban surveillance and tactical situations. Ash climbed into the passenger seat, immediately pulling up Serena's file on his phone.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Research. If I'm handling social niceties, I should probably know more about her than 'sings good, has stalker, Marcus's sister.'"
I started the engine. "Learn anything useful?"
"She writes all her own music. Turned down three major label offers before signing with an independent that gave her creative control. Donates to omega advocacy groups but keeps it quiet—no PR announcements." He scrolled further. "Never been in a public relationship. No dating history at all, actually."
"Relevant to security how?"
"Could mean a lot of things. Maybe she's private. Maybe she's been too focused on her career. Or maybe..." He trailed off, frowning at the screen.
"Maybe what?"
"Maybe there's a reason she's kept everyone at arm's length." Ash looked up. "Twenty-eight years old, famous, successful, and she's never dated anyone? That's not just privacy, Silas. That's isolation."
I hadn't considered it from that angle. "So we're dealing with someone who doesn't trust easily."
"Which means earning her cooperation is going to be harder than usual." Ash set his phone down. "She's not going to want strangers in her life, even if those strangers are trying to protect her."
"Then we prove we're worth trusting."
"And how do we do that when our job requires us to invade every aspect of her privacy?"
Good question. I didn't have a good answer.
We drove through downtown Seattle, the afternoon traffic already building. Serena's building was in Belltown—expensive, modern, the kind of place where celebrity residents could maintain relative anonymity among tech executives and finance professionals.
"You really think she's going to cooperate?" Ash asked as we approached.
I thought about Marcus's message, about the file's careful documentation of someone who'd built her success on her own terms, about Ash's unexpected defense of her music and his observation about her isolation.
"I think she's going to fight us on every protocol until she understands we're not trying to control her life," I said. "We're trying to save it."
"And if she doesn't see the difference?"
"Then we make her see it." I pulled into the visitor parking. "One way or another, Serena Vale is getting protection. Whether she likes how we do it is secondary to keeping her alive."
Ash was quiet for a moment. "You know what the best part of *Fractured* is? The ending. She doesn't sing about being saved. She sings about saving herself."
I met his eyes. "Then we'll make sure she survives long enough to keep doing exactly that."