Chapter Two – His Suspicion

Elior’s POV

Sleep didn’t come easy after that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the glint of the syringe, the sharp focus in Rylan Voss’s eyes when he’d stepped into the lab. It was as if he’d peeled back a layer of me I didn’t know was visible.

It was like a split of a second and morning bled through the curtains before I finally dragged myself out of bed. The Alpha dorm buzzed with movement—voices, laughter, the metallic thud of lockers. Silvercross was always alive before sunrise, its halls echoing with the confidence of boys who’d been raised to lead.

I walked among them like a shadow.

“Yo, Hale! Training hall at eight,” someone called from down the corridor. I lifted a hand in acknowledgment, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

My schedule was the same as everyone else’s: pheromone control, dominance theory, combat strategy. The only difference was, for me every class was a minefield because one wrong breath and the mask could slip.

The first period started with pheromone control. The instructor was a tall Beta with silver streaks in his hair. He paced the room while the students stood in a semicircle, with their eyes closed, learning to suppress their scents.

“Breathe deep. Control begins with calm,” he said.

I think that was easy for him to say. Meanwhile, my control depended on a fading serum, not willpower.

I caught a faint rustle beside me and observed that Rylan had taken the spot one person over, with his hands tucked behind his back. That was a perfect posture. He didn’t look at me, but the weight of his presence pressed against my skin like gravity.

“Good, Voss,” the instructor said. “Textbook discipline as always.”

Rylan inclined his head slightly, eyes still shut. Then, almost imperceptibly, his nose twitched. His lids fluttered open, just for a moment and his gaze brushed mine. My lungs stilled at a go.

He turned away again before anyone noticed, but I felt the message in that look which screamed, ‘I remember last night.’

When class ended, I slipped out before he could catch me.

Silvercross looked beautiful from the outside with its gothic towers, stained-glass windows, vines curling around polished stone but beauty here was a mask. Every friendship came with an agenda and every smile had teeth.

At lunch, whispers followed me down the cafeteria line.

“He never eats with anyone.”

“Doesn’t talk much, does he?”

“I heard he showers at night when the rest are asleep.”

Rumors spread like wildfire here. I kept my head down and sat alone, pretending to scroll through my phone.

Across the hall, Rylan sat with his usual group of top-ranked Alphas. Their laughter rolled through the room like thunder, but his attention wasn’t on them. Every few seconds, I caught his eyes flick toward me. That wasn't necessarily curiosity, it was more of calculation.

By afternoon, the whispers had turned into stares as we were expected to be at the training hall. Sunlight poured through high windows, glinting off the weights and sparring mats. The air smelled of sweat and adrenaline.

I arrived early, hoping for a few quiet minutes before the others filed in. I stretched, keeping my breathing steady, telling myself I could get through one more day just like I did everyday.

But then his reflection appeared in the mirror behind me.

“Still avoiding me?” Rylan’s voice carried that lazy, confident drawl that made everyone listen.

I straightened, feeling my heart hammering. “I wasn’t aware we had anything to talk about.”

He walked closer, the sound of his boots steady and deliberate. “You broke curfew. You lied. That’s two things already.”

“Is this an interrogation?”

“Call it curiosity.”

He stopped a step too close, his height forcing me to tilt my head slightly. His scent felt clean, sharp, and a little wild, was wrapped around me, and my suppressant serum suddenly felt too thin.

“You’re overstepping,” I said, but my voice came out quieter than I meant.

He smiled faintly. “Then stop me.”

His hand brushed my shoulder, not rough nor was it soft, but felt like he was testing something best known to him. The contact sent a jolt through me, my pulse jumping before I could hide it. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Relax,” he said, almost teasing. “You’re acting like I’m about to bite.”

“You should leave me alone,” I muttered.

“Why? You’re not hiding something, are you?” His tone was playful, but there was an edge beneath it.

Before I could answer, the instructor’s whistle shrilled from across the hall. “Pair up!”

‘Saved for now.’ I thought to myself. 

We lined up for sparring drills. I wouldn't know if it was fate or cruelty but the instructor paired me with Rylan. The class formed a loose circle around us.

“Remember, control matters more than strength,” the instructor said. “Begin.”

Rylan didn’t hesitate. He lunged, movements precise and effortless. I dodged, blocked, deflected, keeping my distance. He was faster than anyone I’d fought before, but I refused to fold.

“You fight like someone afraid to be touched,” he said between strikes.

I caught his wrist and twisted, forcing him back a step. “Maybe I just don’t like you.”

“Liar.”

He surged forward, sweeping my leg and pinning me to the mat. His weight pressed down—not crushing, but firm enough that I could feel his breath against my neck.

“Yield,” he said quietly.

The suppressant had started to fade. My body burned and my pulse raced. I could smell him, and worse, he could smell me.

“I said yield, Hale.”

I turned my head just enough to meet his eyes. “Get off.”

Then it happened. The faintest crack in the mask. My scent slipped which felt sweet, warm, unmistakably Omega.

The change in his expression was instant. His breath caught and his eyes widened just slightly before narrowing again, confusion flashing to realization.

For a second, the world went still.

He didn’t move, neither did I.

Then, before the instructor could notice, Rylan pulled back, helping me to my feet in one smooth motion. His hand lingered on my wrist, and his grip was too tight to be casual.

“Careful,” he said softly enough that only I heard. “You’re slipping.”

My stomach twisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He leaned closer, his lips near my ear, voice barely more than a breath. “What are you hiding, Elior?”

The question wasn’t loud, but it landed like a thunderclap.

I pulled my hand free and turned away, forcing my breathing to steady while the instructor called for the next pair. Around us, the class went on as if nothing had happened. But every nerve in my body screamed that something had changed.

Rylan knew—maybe not everything, but enough to start pulling the threads.

I kept my gaze fixed on the far wall, refusing to look back. If I did, I knew I’d find him watching.

And sure enough, when the session ended and everyone filed out, I felt it, which was the weight of his stare following me to the door.

Outside, the air was cool, sharp against my overheated skin. I walked faster, every step echoing through the empty hallway.

But no matter how far I went, I couldn’t shake the sound of his voice: ‘What are you hiding, Elior?’

Because deep down, I knew this was only the beginning.