The Omega and The Arrogant Alpha (by Kylie) novel Chapter 333

The alerts begin arriving in a pattern that feels wrong before I can explain why, not clustered around the corridor we just left and not tied to any of the access points Sally flagged, but blooming outward instead, lighting up a different part of the map with a timing that is too neat to be accidental.

Sally notices it at the same moment I do, her fingers slowing as she redraws the feed and pulls the overlays apart, because experience has taught us both that real emergencies are messy and this one is anything but.

“That’s not spillover,” she says quietly. “That’s staged.”

Ben leans in close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my shoulder without either of us touching. “Where.”

“Sector C,” she replies. “Public facing. Low security. High visibility.”

The words slot into place with a heavy click, because I know exactly what that combination means, and my wolf lifts again, not in alarm but in grim recognition, because this is the move you make when you want fear to travel faster than facts.

“What kind of incident,” I ask.

Sally exhales slowly. “Property damage. Minor injuries reported. No fatalities.”

“Yet,” Ben adds.

“Yes,” she agrees. “Yet.”

I straighten instinctively, grounding myself in the familiar motions of pulling my shoulders back and setting my stance, because this is the pivot point where they stop trying to silence me and start trying to make me responsible.

“They’re going to tie this to unrest,” I say. “And they’re going to say I incited it.”

Sally nods, already pulling open secondary feeds. “Council comms are spinning up.”

The screen shifts before she finishes speaking, a live briefing snapping into place with barely disguised urgency, and the spokesperson’s face appears again, composed and solemn, as if concern itself could be weaponized through repetition.

“This incident,” the spokesperson says, “appears to be linked to heightened tensions following irresponsible public statements earlier today.”

There it is.

Clean.

Immediate.

Designed to land before anyone asks whether the timeline makes sense.

Ben’s jaw tightens. “They didn’t even wait.”

“They never do,” I reply. “Speed matters more than accuracy in the first wave.”

Sally flicks between timestamps, her eyes narrowing. “The incident started three minutes before the first repost of your statement reached Sector C.”

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