The Omega and The Arrogant Alpha (by Kylie) novel Chapter 331

The decision to name the threat has barely left my mouth before the building answers it, not with words or alarms, but with the subtle shift that comes when systems stop pretending they are neutral, and I feel it immediately in the way the air seems to tighten around us.

Sally is still standing near the console, fingers hovering as if she is listening through the machinery itself, and Ben has not moved from my side, his posture loose but watchful, the way it gets when instinct starts running quiet calculations faster than thought.

My tablet vibrates again.

Not a message.

A system alert.

Access anomaly detected.

That is when my wolf lifts fully, not snarling, not panicked, just sharply awake, because that phrasing is never used for accidents.

Sally swears under her breath and pulls the alert onto the main screen, and the map resolves in clean lines and muted colors, an exterior feed lighting up near my residential wing, not inside the perimeter but close enough to matter.

“That’s not possible,” she says, already tracing the routing. “That corridor is sealed unless manually overridden.”

“By who,” Ben asks.

Sally’s mouth tightens. “Someone with internal credentials.”

I close my eyes for half a second, not because I am afraid, but because this confirms exactly what I expected, which is that the warning was never meant to stand alone.

“They’re escalating,” I say quietly. “Not to hurt. To demonstrate access.”

Ben’s voice drops. “We should move you.”

“No,” I reply immediately, and I open my eyes and meet his gaze, steady and unflinching. “They want motion. They want fear to dictate my position.”

Sally looks between us. “This is close, Savannah.”

“Yes,” I agree. “Deliberately.”

The alert updates again, and this time the map zooms in, showing a service door cycling open and closed once, not enough to breach fully, just enough to log activity, just enough to say we can.

I feel my wolf bare her teeth silently, not in rage but in warning, because this is not random and it is not sloppy.

“They’re testing response time,” I say. “And documentation.”

Sally nods slowly. “They’re seeing who we call and how fast.”

“Then we don’t call anyone new,” I reply. “We keep this contained and visible.”

I turn back to him. “They want me contained or fleeing. If I do either, they win.”

“And if you walk into a second attempt,” he counters.

“Then it won’t be quiet,” I say. “And that matters.”

Sally swallows. “We can route the corridor feed to the main board.”

“Do it,” I say.

The screen shifts, live footage resolving into view, the familiar service corridor empty now, lights humming softly, nothing visibly wrong, which is exactly the point.

“Lock the feed,” Ben says.

“No,” I reply. “Broadcast it internally.”

Sally hesitates, then nods, and I watch the access permissions ripple outward, the quiet widening of witnesses that turns secrecy brittle.

I move toward the exit, my steps measured and unhurried, because urgency would turn this into a chase, and the last thing I will give them is spectacle.

Ben stays with me, close enough that I can feel him without needing to look, and Sally follows, her tablet held tight like a shield.