PRESENT
The warning bell echoed across campus.
Sam didn't move.
Oliver reached into his backpack without a word and pulled out a small black pouch. Discreet. Compact. He pressed it into Sam's hand under the pretence of a casual stretch.
"Check before you go in."
Sam nodded, throat tight.
He slipped behind the rooftop ventilation unit, pulling the hoodie lower around his hips as he checked himself. No stain—yet. But the ache was already settling in low in his abdomen. That slow, curling pain reminded him exactly what he was.
A True Blood Alpha shouldn't bleed.
Shouldn't need discreet black pads. Shouldn't feel heat pooling between their thighs. Shouldn't wake up with dreams that left him aching and confused in ways no medical book could explain.
He shouldn't exist.
When he stepped back out, Oliver didn't say anything. Just nodded once.
And that was enough.
Together, they climbed down the rooftop ladder, moving into the sea of students.
Sam's gait was careful—measured. Too much pressure in the wrong place and he'd feel it. Too little control, and he'd stain.
Aria's scent hit him first near the lockers: clover honey and warm linen. Her nose twitched as he passed, her omega instincts razor-sharp.
"You smell off." She said it to no one in particular, loud enough to carry.
Jett and Damon looked over.
Oliver touched Sam's elbow lightly—an anchor. Just enough to keep Sam from bolting.
"Ignore it."
But Max was already watching from across the hallway. Brows drawn. Eyes narrowed.
He was sensing it now—more than just the scent.
He was sensing Sam's shift.
And Sam… was running out of places to hide.
---