The air was heavy—saturated with the scent of damp earth, fear, and unresolved history. In the dim, dirt-streaked room, Shan knelt in the mud, clutching Jain tightly. The little boy's sobs shook his small frame, his face buried in the soaked fabric of Shan's tunic. The usual soft, honey-sweet omega pheromones Shan emitted were now tinged with distress—sharp, acidic, anxious.
Then a shadow spilled into the doorway.
Kang.
He filled the entrance like a storm on the horizon—tall, broad, silent. His eyes swept the room, impassive. When he finally spoke, it was with an eerie calm.
"Stop crying. You're safe now," Kang said evenly, stepping further inside. "No one is going to hurt you."
Shan didn't look up. Jain didn't stop crying. The words, despite their surface kindness, carried no warmth.
Kang frowned. "I said everything is fine now."
Shan finally looked up, eyes swollen and red-rimmed, his face streaked with tears and dirt. His arms tightened around Jain as he whispered to him, "It's okay, baby. I'm here. Just a little longer."
Then, turning his eyes back to Kang with a steadiness that defied his trembling body, Shan said, "Give me five minutes."
Kang's expression flickered. Surprise, confusion, then calculation. No begging, no hysteria—just a quiet plea for time. He gave a single, short nod.
"Yes," he said simply.
Shan turned back to his son, shifting his body protectively, curling around Jain. He rocked him gently, humming low under his breath, soft syllables that had no meaning except to soothe. Jain clutched him tightly, sobs fading to hiccups, then to quiet sniffling. Eventually, his lashes fluttered closed. He exhaled in sleep.
With great care, Shan laid him on a clean patch of floor, using a folded cloth as a pillow. He tucked another piece around Jain's small shoulders, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead.
Then he stood and faced Kang.
"I'm ready now," he said. "You can kill me."
Kang's brows lifted slightly. His arms folded across his chest. "Is that what you think I came here to do?"
Shan didn't flinch. "If you do, then do it in one blow. Don't drag it out. Not in front of my son."
Kang's expression twisted into something unreadable. "You really think I'd give you a clean death? No. I'll kill you one piece at a time, Shan. Slowly. Because it satisfies me more."
Shan's jaw tightened. "Then do it when he's not watching. Jain might grow up as an alpha, but he has a soft heart. He won't survive seeing me die little by little."
There was a long silence. The rain drummed faintly on the tin roof. Kang's gaze slid to Jain's sleeping form. When he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its menace.
"I'm not here to kill you," he said. "You're my mate. And you're the mother of my child. That gives me the right to bring you both home."
Shan's voice was sharp now, filled with edge. "You mean back to your cage."
Kang ignored it. "You're coming with me. That's final. Don't force me to persuade you."
His tone left no room for argument.
At that moment, Jain stirred. A soft whimper escaped him as he rolled in his sleep, then his eyes cracked open. "Mom…?" he murmured, reaching out blindly. "Where's Uncle Davey?"
Shan rushed to him, wrapping Jain tightly in his arms. "He's okay, sweetie. He's coming. We'll all be okay. I promise."
Jain clung to him, confused and half-awake, but comforted.
Kang's expression changed again as he watched them. Something vulnerable, almost human, flickered behind his cold eyes.
The room held its breath.
And then—
The door creaked open.
Davey stepped in first, face pale but resolute. Behind him, Ron appeared—silent, brooding, every movement wary.
Jain's eyes lit up. "Uncle Davey!"
Shan turned, visibly shaken but trying to hold himself together. Davey's gaze landed on Kang. There was no fear. Only fury tempered by exhaustion.
"You have no right to take them," Davey said, stepping forward, voice low and firm.
Kang didn't move. "I have every right. He's mine. The child is mine."
"Not anymore," Davey said. "You lost that right when you made him run."
Ron's hand twitched, hovering near Davey's shoulder. He said nothing.
Kang's eyes narrowed, looking from Davey to Shan, then to Jain—still clinging to his mother. There was a moment—just one—where even Kang seemed unsure what to say. A moment of stillness, of decision-making on the edge of a blade.
Then Kang's voice dropped to a whisper. "I won't fight you here. Not now. But this isn't over."
Shan stepped in front of Davey and Jain protectively. "It is for today."
Kang turned, his coat flaring as he left.
No promises.
No threats.
Just a silence heavy with unfinished business.
Ron looked calm and authoritative, his presence solid and reassuring. Davey, though still pale and shaken, seemed to have regained a measure of composure. It was evident that Ron had successfully controlled Davey's pheromones. Davey's gaze flickered between Shan, Jain, and Kang, then settled on Kang with a defiant glare. "So, what do you want now, Mr. Kang?" Davey's voice was rough, laced with bitterness. "To kill Shan, and take jain away for good, is that it?"
Kang didn't react to Davey's accusations. He simply stood, his alpha presence dominating the room. He turned to Ron, his voice firm, "I have some work. I'm leaving. Ron, you take them to my mansion." Without another word, Kang turned and strode out, his departure as abrupt and dominating as his arrival.
After Kang was gone, an even heavier silence descended. Ron turned to Shan and Davey, his expression neutral. "Come with me," he instructed. "Take Jain."
Davey instinctively moved to protest, to shield Shan and jain, but Shan gently placed a hand on his arm, his grip surprisingly firm. "Don't say anything," he whispered. He understood the futility of resistance now. For jain's sake, they would go along with this.
Following Ron, carrying a still-clinging Jain, Shan and Davey stepped out into the fading light. A sleek, black vehicle waited outside. They were whisked away, leaving behind the squalor and fear of the recent hours, but stepping into an unknown future that felt just as uncertain.
The Car Ride — Silent Codes in a Moving Cage
Ron's presence was like cold steel—unyielding, steady, and impassive. He sat in the front seat of the luxury black SUV, his eyes trained on the road but ears undoubtedly alert to every movement behind him.
Shan sat in the middle seat with Jain curled up in his lap, clinging to his tunic like a lifeline. Davey sat beside him, one leg bouncing nervously, his eyes flicking toward the rearview mirror occasionally.
The engine purred like a predator ready to pounce.
Inside the car, silence pressed on them, heavy and oppressive.
Jain was dozing, his small body warm and slightly trembling in Shan's arms. Shan kissed the top of his head gently, then looked sideways at Davey.
Without looking directly at him, Davey spoke in a low voice, but one intentionally loud enough to be heard—its words simple, yet layered.
"So," Davey began, letting out a breath as though commenting on something mundane, "how's the… recipe going? You still following that same old one?"
Shan blinked once, slowly. Then nodded.
"Some parts changed," he answered with careful inflection, "but the ingredients are the same. I had to make do with what I had in the village. Couldn't add anything… foreign."
Davey gave a tight smile. "I tried your old version last month. The one from the winter festival." He paused, then added meaningfully, "It tasted safe. Familiar."
Shan's hand unconsciously clutched Jain closer. "That version was only safe because I didn't let anyone taste it twice."
Ron didn't turn, but Shan could feel him listening.
Davey nodded slowly, playing along. "What about… spices? You ever think of adding a sharp one? Something strong. Could wake people up."
Shan's mouth twitched—half grimace, half knowing smile. "Once. But I couldn't control the flavor. It… lingered too long. Burned the tongue. So I threw the bottle out."
Davey's smile dropped. His next words came slower. "You know, it's weird. Even when you throw something out, sometimes it finds its way back to the shelf."
Shan looked down at Jain, brushing a speck of dirt from his son's cheek. "Then I guess I'll have to teach Jain to cook without it. Make sure he doesn't get used to it. Even if someone puts it in his food again."
There was silence between them, only the hum of the tires beneath them, and Ron's unreadable gaze reflected faintly in the rearview mirror.
Davey turned his face slightly toward the window. "You're stronger than I thought," he murmured, then louder, "That winter recipe? Maybe you should write it down. Could help someone else one day."
Shan's voice came soft but sure. "Maybe I already have."
A slight twitch at the corner of Ron's eye was the only indication he'd caught on. But he said nothing.
Shan's arms tightened around Jain, eyes fixed ahead.
They didn't know what waited at Kang's mansion—only that the cage was velvet-lined, the lock invisible, and the scent of control already thick in the air.
But at least, for now, they were still together.
And for now, that was enough.