**POV: Silas**
She stood across from us, and I couldn't smell a goddamn thing.
No omega scent. No fear pheromones. No arousal markers. Nothing.
It should have been unsettling. Instead, it was... fascinating.
Ash was shooting me looks I was carefully ignoring. He felt it too—the complete absence where there should have been omega presence. But Serena wasn't trying to hide in the traditional sense. She was just there, fully present, completely in control.
And not remotely intimidated by two alpha operators in her personal space.
The drive to Phoenix Combat Academy gave me time to process what we'd just witnessed. Serena Vale wasn't what any of the intelligence suggested. The file painted a picture of a successful omega celebrity with stalker problems. Standard high-value target, standard protective detail.
The woman we'd just met was something else entirely.
"She documented everything," Ash said, breaking the silence. "Every intrusion, every timestamp, every detail. That's not civilian behavior."
"No, it's not." I navigated through afternoon traffic, mind already running tactical scenarios. "Marcus said she trained with his unit. I didn't realize how seriously."
"She's got weapons hidden throughout her apartment. Motion sensors we didn't spot on first pass. And that scent control—" Ash shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it. Complete suppression. How is that even possible?"
"Extreme conditioning. Probably years of it." I'd read about omega suppression techniques in military psychology courses. Theoretical applications for deep cover operations. I'd never seen it implemented successfully. "Most omegas can't maintain that level of control for more than a few minutes without serious physiological stress."
"She held it for forty-five minutes. Didn't even break a sweat."
I thought about the way she'd stood her ground, the absolute certainty in her posture, the calculated assessment in her eyes. She'd been reading us just as carefully as we'd been reading her.
"Whatever happened to her as a kid, it changed her fundamentally," I said. "Marcus mentioned kidnapping. Six months in some kind of facility."
"Jesus." Ash was quiet for a moment. "That would explain the hypervigilance. The control. The fact that she's never dated."
"It would also explain why she needs partners, not handlers." I pulled into the parking lot of Phoenix Combat Academy. "She's spent her entire life since then making sure no one can control her again. Standard security protocols would feel like imprisonment."
"So we adapt."
"So we adapt." I checked my phone. "Riven's installing the surveillance package. Lucien's running background checks on building staff. We watch her train, assess her actual capabilities, then build protocols around what she can do instead of what we assume she can't."
Ash grinned. "Marcus is going to be insufferable when he finds out his baby sister impressed us."
"Marcus knew exactly what he was doing when he sent us." I opened the truck door. "He wanted operators who'd respect her competence. That's why he called me instead of going through standard channels."
We entered the academy—a converted warehouse with training mats, heavy bags, weapons racks, and the distinctive smell of sweat and effort. A few people were scattered across the space, working through drills.
Serena was in the back corner, talking to an older man built like a tank. She'd changed into training gear—fitted black athletic wear that allowed full range of motion. Her hair was pulled back tight. No jewelry, no distractions.
She looked like an operator.
The older man noticed us first, said something to Serena. She turned, and even from across the room, I caught the shift in her posture. Acknowledging our presence but not changing her behavior.
She walked over, moving with the kind of controlled grace that came from serious martial arts training.
"Silas. Ash." She gestured to the older man. "This is David Chen, my primary instructor. David, Silverthorne Security. They'll be observing today."
David's handshake was firm, assessing. Definitely military background. "Marcus mentioned you might be coming around. Good to see Serena finally accepting proper backup."
"Finally?" I asked.
"I've been telling her for two years she needed professional security. She kept insisting she could handle it herself." David's expression was fond but exasperated. "Stubborn doesn't begin to cover it."
"I can hear you," Serena said mildly.
"You're supposed to." David turned back to us. "Fair warning—she's better than most of my advanced students. Don't let the omega designation fool you."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Ash said.
Serena raised an eyebrow. "Big talk. Let's see if you back it up. David, standard drill?"
"Standard drill." David moved to the center of the mat. "Serena, you're up first. Show our guests what you've been working on."
I expected demonstration forms. Maybe some light sparring.
What I got was a masterclass in practical combat.
David came at her hard—not pulling punches, not adjusting for her size or designation. Real speed, real power, real intent. The kind of attack that would overwhelm most trained fighters.
Serena moved like water.
She deflected the first strike, used his momentum against him, drove an elbow into his ribs that would have cracked bone if she'd committed full force. Spun out of his grab, swept his leg, followed him down with a knee that stopped millimeters from his throat.
"Reset," David said, grinning.
They reset. Went again.
This time David pulled a training knife. Weapon retention drill.
Serena's entire demeanor changed. The controlled grace became something sharper, more vicious. When David lunged, she didn't just defend—she attacked. Trapped his wrist, struck his elbow joint, twisted the knife away, and had him disarmed in under three seconds.
"Fuck," Ash muttered beside me.
David stood, rubbing his wrist. "That's new. Been practicing that disarm?"
"Marcus showed me a variation last month. Modified it for smaller hands." Serena handed back the training knife. "Again?"
"Again."
They ran through six more scenarios. Each one, Serena adapted, improvised, found the efficient solution. No wasted movement. No hesitation. Just clean, brutal effectiveness.
This wasn't self-defense training. This was combat training.
When they finally stopped, Serena was breathing hard but controlled. Not exhausted—just worked. David looked pleased.
"Gentlemen?" David gestured to the mat. "Your turn. Let's see what Silverthorne Security brings to the table."
I glanced at Ash. He shrugged.
"Why not?" I stripped off my jacket, handed it to Serena. "Standard drill?"
"Standard drill," David confirmed. "Ash, you're up first."
Watching Ash spar was like watching controlled chaos. He was aggressive, powerful, used his size and strength to overwhelm opponents. David held his own—barely—but I could see the strain.
Different style than Serena. More force, less finesse.
Then it was my turn.
David and I circled each other. He moved well for his age, but I had twenty years of military combat training and recent field experience. I kept it professional, controlled, demonstrated competence without showing off.
When we finished, David nodded approvingly. "Marcus trained you both?"
"Among others," I said.
"It shows." David looked at Serena. "What do you think? Compatible styles?"
She'd been watching with that same assessing expression she'd used in her apartment. Reading us, cataloguing our capabilities, running scenarios.
"Ash fights like he's always the biggest threat in the room," she said. "Silas fights like he's always calculating three moves ahead. Different approaches, but both effective."
"And compared to your style?" I asked.
"I fight like someone who knows she'll never be the biggest threat in the room, so she has to be the smartest." She met my eyes. "Which means we'd work well together. Your tactical planning, Ash's aggressive coverage, my adaptability. Good balance."
David laughed. "She just assessed your entire team dynamic in thirty seconds. This is why I love teaching her."
"Your turn," I said to Serena. "Let's see how you adapt to an unfamiliar opponent."
Something flickered in her eyes. Challenge accepted.
"Light contact or full?" she asked.
"Your call."
"Light contact. I don't know your injury history, and I'm not looking to put my new security team in the hospital on day one." She stepped onto the mat. "David, standard rules?"
"Standard rules. First to three points or submission."
Serena and I faced each other.
I'd sparred with plenty of omegas during military training. Smaller, faster, usually more technical than alphas. They compensated for size disadvantage with precision and strategy.
Serena was all of that, but there was something else. Something that made my tactical brain sit up and pay attention.
"Ready?" David asked.
We both nodded.
"Begin."
Serena didn't wait for me to set the pace. She came in fast, testing my defenses with quick strikes that forced me to react. Not committing, just gathering information.
I blocked, redirected, kept my guard tight.
She adjusted. Switched angles, changed rhythm, probed for openings.
I saw her pattern, anticipated the next strike, moved to counter—
And she wasn't there.
She'd feinted, read my counter, and slipped past my guard. Light tap to my ribs.
"Point," David called.
I reset, recalibrating. She was faster than I'd expected. More deceptive.
"Again."
This time I adjusted for her speed. Gave her less to read, kept my intentions masked. When she came in, I was ready.
Or I thought I was.
She used my adjustment against me, drew me into overcommitting, and suddenly I was off-balance. She could have swept me, taken me down easily.
Instead, she stepped back.
"You're favoring your left knee," she said quietly. "Old injury?"
I stared at her. "Three years ago. ACL repair."
"Thought so. Slight hesitation when you pivot right." She settled back into stance. "I won't target it."
Most opponents would have exploited that weakness immediately. She'd identified it and then deliberately chose not to use it.
Because this wasn't about winning. It was about assessment.
"Point stands," David said. "Two-zero, Serena's favor. Continue."
The third engagement, I stopped trying to out-fight her and started trying to out-think her. Treated it like a tactical problem instead of a physical contest.
She adapted again. Met strategy with strategy.
We circled, tested, probed. No clear openings. No obvious advantages.
Then she smiled.
It was the smile of someone who'd just figured something out.
"You're holding back," she said. "Worried about hurting me?"
"Worried about underestimating you," I corrected.
"Good answer." She came in fast, and this time there was no holding back. Full technical skill, complete tactical awareness, absolute commitment.
I blocked three strikes, countered twice, and she still found the opening. Tap to my shoulder.
"Match. Three-zero." David's voice held approval. "Well done, both of you."
Serena stepped back, breathing harder now but still controlled. "You're good. Better than most of the operators Marcus has introduced me to."
"You're better than most special forces soldiers I've trained with," I replied honestly.
"That's the nicest thing a professional paranoid has ever said to me." She grabbed a water bottle, took a long drink. "So. Still think I need to be locked in a safe house while you handle everything?"
Ash laughed from the sidelines. "Fuck no. You'd probably break out and solve the problem yourself while we were still planning the operation."
"Probably," she agreed. "Which is why partnership works better than protection."
I watched her, this omega who'd spent years building herself into someone who couldn't be controlled, who'd turned vulnerability into strength through sheer determination and brutal training.
Marcus had been right. She was different.
"All right," I said. "Partnership it is. But that means honest communication. Both ways."
"Agreed."
"Then I need to tell you something." I gestured for Ash to join us. "That package at your building. We need to know what's in it before you go anywhere near it. Could be nothing. Could be a message from whoever's been inside your apartment."
"I know." She set down the water bottle. "That's why I didn't pick it up."
"You knew it was suspicious?"
"I don't order things to be delivered to my residence. Everything goes through my management office or my assistant. A package with no return address, showing up unannounced?" She shook her head. "Either someone made a mistake, or someone's sending me something. Either way, I don't touch it until it's cleared."
David chuckled. "I've trained a lot of people. Serena's the only one who applies tactical thinking to every aspect of her life. It's exhausting and impressive in equal measure."
"It's survival," Serena said simply. "You don't get to be careless when someone's watching you."
The weight of that statement settled over us.
"How long have you known someone was watching?" I asked.
"Six months, maybe longer. The apartment intrusions started three months ago. Before that, it was smaller things. Feeling followed. Items moved in my dressing room at venues. Messages that felt too personal, too informed." She met my eyes. "I've been documenting everything, trying to establish patterns. But whoever this is, they're patient. Careful. They don't make obvious mistakes."
"Which suggests sophistication and planning," Ash said.
"Yes." Serena grabbed her jacket. "Which is why I finally agreed to meet with you. Because whatever this is, it's escalating. And I can't handle it alone anymore."
That admission—from someone who'd built her entire life around being able to handle things alone—told me everything I needed to know about how serious this threat was.
"You won't have to," I said. "Riven's upgrading your security right now. Lucien's building a threat profile. Ash and I will establish protective protocols that don't interfere with your life. We'll figure this out."
"Together?" she asked.
"Together."
She studied me for a long moment, and I let her look. Let her assess whether I meant it, whether I'd follow through, whether I was someone she could trust.
Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she nodded.
"Okay then. Let's go see what's in that package."
The drive back to her building was quiet. Serena sat in the back seat, looking out the window, and I caught myself watching her in the rearview mirror. Trying to understand what it cost her to maintain that level of control, that degree of vigilance, every single day.
Ash broke the silence. "You fight like someone who's been training for a specific scenario. Not general self-defense—targeted preparation."
Serena's reflection met my eyes in the mirror. "Because I have been. Every technique David teaches me, I run through a specific set of questions: Does this work against someone bigger? Someone stronger? Someone who wants to take me somewhere against my will?"
"Abduction resistance," I said quietly.
"Yes." No emotion in her voice. Just fact. "I was taken once. I won't be taken again."
The determination in those words was absolute.
We pulled into her building's parking garage. I scanned for threats automatically—clear sightlines, no suspicious vehicles, security cameras functioning.
"Riven should be finished with the installation," I said. "We'll check the package, see what we're dealing with."
Serena's phone buzzed. She checked it, and something shifted in her expression.
"What is it?" Ash asked.
"Rita. My assistant. She's at the building. Says there's something I need to see." Serena typed a response. "She sounds upset."
My tactical instincts flared. "Did she say what?"
"No. Just that it's important and I should come up immediately." Serena looked up from her phone. "Rita doesn't spook easily. If she's concerned, something's wrong."
We took the elevator up in silence. I kept Serena positioned between Ash and me, standard protective formation. She didn't comment on it, just accepted the positioning naturally.
The elevator opened on her floor.
Riven was in the hallway, talking to a woman in her thirties with sharp eyes and protective body language. Must be Rita.
"Serena." Rita's relief was visible. "Thank god. I came to drop off your schedule revisions and found—" She gestured to the apartment door.
It was open.
Not damaged. Not forced. Just... open.
"I secured the apartment," Riven said, his quiet voice cutting through the tension. "No one inside. But you need to see this."
We entered carefully. Ash cleared rooms while I stayed with Serena. The apartment looked untouched. Nothing obviously disturbed.
Until we reached the living room.
On her coffee table, arranged in a precise circle, were photographs. Professional quality, taken with a long lens. Serena at the gym. Serena leaving her building. Serena at a recording studio.
And in the center of the circle, a single white rose.
"I did a full sweep," Riven said. "No cameras, no listening devices, no additional threats. Just the photos and the rose."
Serena stood perfectly still, staring at the display. Her scent control held, but I saw the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her breathing had changed.
"When?" she asked.
"Had to be within the last two hours. Rita arrived forty minutes ago, found the door open and called me immediately. I've been here ever since."
"They were watching," Serena said quietly. "They knew we left. Knew the apartment would be empty."
"Which means they have surveillance on your building or access to security schedules," I said. "Riven, pull all security footage for the last three hours. Every entry, every exit, every person who came near this floor."
"Already on it."
Serena moved closer to the table, studying the photographs without touching them. "These were taken over the last month. Different locations, different times of day." She pointed to one. "This was taken from inside a building across from my gym. You can tell by the angle."
"They've been planning this," Ash said. "Building a file. Learning your patterns."
"Yes." Serena's voice was steady, but I heard the undercurrent of something darker. Not fear. Something colder. "And they wanted me to know. That's why they left the door open, why they arranged everything so carefully. This is a message."
"What message?" Rita asked, her voice shaking slightly.
Serena picked up one of the photographs—her leaving her building early morning, coffee in hand. "That they can get close whenever they want. That my security means nothing. That I'm not as safe as I think I am."
She set the photo down carefully.
"They're wrong."
The certainty in her voice made everyone look at her.
"I'm not safe," she continued. "I've never been safe. But I'm also not helpless. And now I have a team who understands that." She turned to me. "So what's our next move?"
I studied the photographs, the rose, the careful arrangement. Whoever this was, they were sophisticated. Patient. And they were escalating.
"Next move is we stop being reactive," I said. "Riven upgrades your security to the point where no one can access this apartment without us knowing. Lucien builds a comprehensive threat profile based on everything we know. Ash and I establish a protective detail that covers you without restricting your movement."
"And me?" Serena asked.
"You keep doing what you do. But you let us control the security parameters." I met her eyes. "Partnership means you trust us to do our jobs, and we trust you to do yours. Can you do that?"
She held my gaze for a long moment.
"Yes," she said finally. "I can do that."
"Good." I pulled out my phone. "Then let's get to work."