The Omega and The Arrogant Alpha (by Kylie) novel Chapter 307

I wake before dawn with my chest already tight, not in panic but in that sharp, expectant way that tells me something has shifted while I was asleep, and I lie there for a moment staring at the ceiling while my wolf moves restlessly beneath my skin, pacing like she knows the quiet is lying.

I get up before the feeling can settle into my bones.

Routine comes first because routine keeps my mind from running too far ahead, and I shower quickly, letting the water hit my shoulders while I focus on the simple physical sensations that still belong only to me, the heat, the steam, the steady rhythm of breathing. I scrub my hair, rinse, soap again, then step out and dry off without lingering, because standing still too long feels like an invitation for the thoughts I am avoiding to catch up.

I brush my teeth at the sink, mint sharp and grounding, and I watch my reflection carefully, noting the alertness in my eyes and the tension I am holding in my jaw, then I dress in clean, neutral clothes that will not attract comment in either direction.

By the time I reach the kitchen, Ben is already there.

He is leaning against the counter with a mug in his hand, posture too still to be relaxed, and when he looks up at me his gaze sharpens immediately, like he is reading something on my face that I have not said out loud yet.

“You feel it,” he says quietly.

“Yes,” I reply, because there is no point pretending otherwise.

Neither of us elaborates, because whatever it is has not declared itself yet, and naming it early will not soften the impact when it arrives.

I pour coffee and force myself to eat something small, even though my stomach feels tight, because I have learned the hard way that skipping meals only turns emotional strain into physical weakness later, and today I cannot afford either.

The notification comes while I am still standing at the counter.

No priority tag.

No escalation alert.

Just a live feed notification flagged external.

I freeze with my mug halfway to my mouth, because live feeds are not routed to me unless something has already left containment.

Ben sees it at the same time I do.

“Savannah,” he says, voice low.

I set the mug down carefully and pick up the tablet.

The screen fills with a still image first, a paused video frame from a public broadcast channel, and my breath catches when I recognize the background immediately, because it is not a studio or a council chamber.

It is a community hall.

Unadorned.

Crowded.

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