The Omega and The Arrogant Alpha (by Kylie) novel Chapter 311

The room is still loud with motion when Ben’s hand leaves my back, and I register the absence of it immediately even as terminals continue flashing and voices overlap in clipped urgency, because I have learned to track him the same way I track exits, without thinking and without needing to look.

I am still processing the second drop when a security liaison steps into my line of sight, posture careful and deferential in a way that tells me something is being asked without being phrased as a request, and before I can speak Ben is already moving, turning slightly toward the corridor as if he sensed it coming before the words were even formed.

“We need you for a moment,” the liaison says, directing it to Ben rather than me, and that alone tightens something cold in my chest, because urgency usually points upward or outward, not sideways.

“For what,” Ben asks, voice calm and neutral, but his eyes flick briefly to mine.

“Clarification,” the liaison replies, and the word sits wrong, polished and vague in a way that signals rehearsed language rather than necessity.

Ben does not answer immediately, and in that half second I feel my wolf shift sharply, instincts flaring in recognition of a maneuver rather than a threat, because separation is always the first move when leverage is being tested.

“I’ll be right back,” Ben says quietly to me, and the fact that he says it at all tells me he does not believe it.

I nod once, because anything else would turn this into a scene, and scenes are exactly what they want.

He disappears down the corridor with the liaison and two others who materialize without fanfare, and I turn back to the main screen even as part of my attention stretches thin, tracking his absence like a missing limb.

Sally is issuing instructions at my side, rerouting personnel and shifting protocols toward physical safety rather than information control, and I force myself to stay present, because losing focus now would be the opening someone is waiting for.

Minutes pass.

Five, maybe ten.

Too long for clarification.

Too short for coincidence.

My tablet vibrates with updates that blur together, regional reactions escalating, council channels going dark in a way that suggests consolidation rather than confusion, and beneath it all a quiet pattern forming that my wolf does not like at all.

Then my internal channel pings.

Ben.

Not voice.

Text.

They’re pulling me into a side room. Senior council.

My jaw tightens, and I type back quickly.

Say nothing you don’t mean.

The response comes almost immediately.

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