It happened during a rainstorm.
Not one of those quiet city drizzles—but a storm that shook the windows. Thunder cracked like bone. Wind howled through the upper district towers, moaning like ghosts of the past.
The kind of night when silence doesn't feel peaceful—it feels like it's waiting to devour you.
Rayan was curled up on the window seat, legs tucked to his chest, face pale.
He hadn't spoken all day.
Not since the dream last night. The one where his mother looked at him through the glass of the lab door, calm and composed as the researchers injected another suppressant. As if she hadn't signed the papers herself. As if it wasn't her signature on the bottom of every experiment.
He hadn't told Kael what he dreamed.
He didn't need to.
Kael didn't sit beside him this time.
He simply waited in the room. Not hovering. Not speaking. Just existing in the quiet, like he was waiting for something to fall apart.
Rayan whispered without turning, "Do you think I'm broken?"
Kael's voice came soft, but without hesitation. "No."
"Then why do I feel like I died years ago and never noticed?"
Kael was silent.
Rayan turned his head slowly, eyes dull, glassy. "Do you ever get tired of pretending this is okay?"
Kael looked at him with an unreadable expression. "I'm not pretending."
"That's what makes you sick," Rayan said, voice cracking.
But his shoulders were trembling now. His breathing shallow. And when Kael took a slow step forward, he didn't flinch.
Didn't move away.
Just let the silence swallow them both.
It wasn't dramatic, the moment it happened.
He didn't scream. Didn't shatter. Didn't sob.
He just started shaking.
A soft, uncontrollable tremor, like his body had finally realized there was no one left to run to. Like his mind had stopped telling him to survive.
Kael dropped to his knees beside him.
Still no touching.
Just presence.
"Say something," Rayan whispered, eyes unfocused. "Say anything."
Kael's voice cracked with restraint. "You're safe now."
Rayan finally broke.
He sobbed.
Silent, guttural sounds that tore out of his chest and wouldn't stop. He curled in on himself, forehead pressed against the window, tears wetting the glass.
Kael didn't try to touch him.
Didn't hold him.
Didn't ruin it with comfort.
He just sat there.
Letting Rayan fall apart beside him.
By the time the storm ended, Rayan had slumped sideways, head resting weakly against Kael's shoulder.
He hadn't meant to.
But Kael didn't move.
Didn't breathe too loud. Didn't ruin the fragile moment.
They sat like that until morning light filtered through the curtains.
Rayan whispered, barely audible, "Why me?"
Kael turned his head slowly.
And said, "Because you were the first person who didn't run when they saw who I really was."
Rayan let his eyes close.
He didn't have the strength to run anymore.
And maybe, just maybe…
Part of him didn't want to.
The morning was too bright.
Rayan opened his eyes slowly, expecting the cold grip of steel around his ankle.
But the chain was gone.
He sat up sharply, heartbeat spiking.
No weight. No lock.
The cuff sat coiled on the nightstand like a discarded snake skin.
Across the room, Kael sat on the couch with a cup of tea, back to the window, sunlight painting his silhouette in gold. He looked calm. Casual.
Like nothing had changed.
Rayan stared at the empty cuff.
Then at Kael.
"…Why?" he asked hoarsely.
Kael didn't look up. "Because you stayed."
The silence was too clean.
Rayan stood. Unsteady, but unshackled. His bare feet touched the cold marble floor, and for a brief moment, he hesitated.
He could leave.
He should leave.
But he didn't move toward the door.
He moved toward the window instead.
Outside, the skyline glistened. Air shuttles cut through the sky like silver fish. Down below, life went on. Normal. Unaware.
Uncaring.
Rayan asked quietly, "Do you think I'm weak now?"
Kael looked at him then.
"I think you're still standing."
Rayan laughed softly. It wasn't kind. "You make that sound like a victory."
"It is."
They ate breakfast in silence.
Rayan didn't touch the food at first.
Then he took a bite.
Then two.
Kael didn't comment.
But something in his shoulders loosened.
Afterward, Rayan wandered into the library-like corner of the penthouse, shelves lined with books he hadn't touched yet. A whole section labeled "Omega Psychology" had been delicately turned spine-in.
He pulled one out.
Flipped to a random page.
"Extreme emotional withdrawal in trauma-bonded Omegas may result in attachment to their captors, mistaking consistent presence for protection."
He closed the book.
Put it back.
That evening, Kael brought him a gift.
A scarf. Thick. Hand-stitched. Pale blue.
"It's getting colder," Kael said, placing it gently on the bed.
Rayan stared at it.
And finally asked, "Do you think I'll ever be normal again?"
Kael was quiet for a long time.
Then he answered, "No."
Rayan flinched.
"But that's not your fault," Kael added gently. "You didn't break yourself."
Rayan looked at him, hollow-eyed. "No. But you didn't stop them either."
Kael's voice didn't waver. "I wasn't strong enough back then."
"And now?"
Kael held his gaze. "Now, I'd burn the world for you."
That night, Rayan sat on the balcony wrapped in the scarf.
Watching the stars.
He didn't cry.
He didn't run.
He simply existed.
And when Kael stepped out beside him, quiet and careful, Rayan didn't move away.
Didn't speak.
Didn't flinch.
He just let Kael sit beside him.
And said, almost to himself—
"I don't forgive you."
Kael nodded once. "I don't deserve it yet."
Rayan's fingers curled around the edge of the scarf.
"…Then earn it."