Lucian stood in the heart of the city, shoulders hunched beneath a faded coat, a canvas bag pressed close to his chest. Around him, the world rushed by in colors too bright and sounds too loud. Skyscrapers stretched toward the sky like glass teeth, and people moved fast, dressed sharp, all with somewhere to be.
He didn't.
Not yet.
The people who had kindly given him a ride to the city — old neighbors from the countryside delivering vegetables to the market — had long disappeared into the crowd, their cart creaking away in the distance.
He stood alone now, surrounded by noise, with only a folded piece of paper in his pocket and a map he barely understood.
His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled out the note again.
"Aurellian Estate. Head Gardener seeks assistance. Room and meals provided. Beta preferred. Inquire in person."
He wasn't a Beta.
He wasn’t even a regular Omega.
He was a recessive — an Omega born with almost no scent, almost no heat, almost no presence at all. To most Alphas, he didn’t register.
It had always made him feel like he didn’t quite exist.
But now, it made hiding easier.
He touched the edge of his throat without thinking, feeling the familiar scar just under his jaw — faint, pale, a reminder of the accident when he was five.
No voice. Not a sound. Not even a hum. His mother used to say he still had the most beautiful laugh, even if no one could hear it.
His chest tightened.
For his grandmother. For Rune. For the roof over their heads.
He closed his eyes briefly, letting the city blur. He could still see his grandmother lying in bed, thin and tired but smiling, pretending not to be in pain.
His little brother clinging to his side, saying he would be brave and wait for Lucian to send back letters. He had promised. And he would keep it.
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