POV: Dante
The twenty-eighth floor has always been too bright for my taste.
Too many motivational posters, too many rehearsed smiles. I don't usually come to Human Resources in person. That's what I have directors and blind-copied emails for.
Today is different.
Today the air in the tower has changed.
I noticed it as soon as I crossed the lobby. Between the coffee, disinfectant, and expensive suits, there was something else: a warm, new scent that didn't belong to any of the regular employees. I followed it without thinking. Instinct took over the rest of my brain.
Omega.
The word stuck in the oldest part of me, in a place I've kept locked away for years.
I could have ignored the smell. Pretended I didn't recognize it. But when I saw her name on the day's agenda—"Sign contract, analyst: Aurora Vega"—I knew I wouldn't.
That's why I walked into the Human Resources room in the middle of the signing.
Now, the contract is already filed away in Sofia's folder, and she tries to fill the air with phrases about credentials and access, as if she hadn't felt how the atmosphere changed when Aurora signed.
I felt it.
Her scent became clearer the moment the ink touched the paper. As if a bond that neither of us understands had taken a step forward.
"In a few minutes, your card will be active and you'll be able to go up to risk analysis," says Sofía. "You're going to love the view from up there."
Aurora nods, but her fingers grip the edge of the table. She's tense, overheated, and pretending not to notice. The anxiety she mentioned doesn't explain everything I perceive.
"You don't have to wait here," I say. "I'll accompany her."
Sofia blinks.
"Mr. Noir, that's not necessary. I can call someone from the floor to..."
"No," I cut her off calmly. "I want to talk to the director of analysis. And since I'm going in that direction, it would be inefficient to send her alone."
I leave no room for discussion. Sofia nods.
I turn to Aurora.
"Ready?" I ask.
Her eyes rise to mine. They hesitate for a second.
"I guess so," she replies.
It's not the answer of someone with options. It's the answer of someone who understands, even without knowing it, that she has just crossed a line.
We step out into the hallway. The smell of disinfectant tries to compete with hers and loses. I walk one step ahead. I can feel her behind me, like a current of heat.
We reach the internal elevators. I press the button. The metal doors reflect our silhouettes.
"Do you always personally review the contracts of new analysts?" she asks.
Most people would remain silent. Not her.
"No," I reply. "But not all new analysts get assigned to projects that interest me."
"I just signed," she says. "I haven't even seen my desk yet."
"That can change quickly," I reply.
The doors open with a "ding." I step in first. I hold the doors open with my hand.
"Come in, Aurora."
Her name has a different weight on my lips than it does on the contract. She notices. I see it in the slight change in her breathing as she crosses the threshold and stands beside me.
The doors close. The elevator starts.
In the enclosed space, her scent hits me unfiltered. Warmth, something sweet, nerves. And underneath, the unmistakable nuance that I haven't allowed to matter for years.
Latent Omega.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She keeps her eyes fixed on the number panel, as if she could escape by going up faster.
"You don't have to worry about the exams," I say, breaking the silence. "No one here is going to question you for being anxious."
"That's not what worries me," she replies, almost in a whisper.
"Then what?" I ask.
She takes a while to answer.
"I don't like things I don't understand," she admits. "And I have a feeling there are a lot of those in this building."
I can't help but smile slightly.
"We agree on that."
She frowns, surprised.
The elevator continues to rise. I feel the heat in her body increase, her pulse quicken. It's not dangerous yet, but it won't be long if I expose her to too many stimuli.
My rational side makes a calculation: young, no clan history, diagnosed with anxiety that will cover up any strange symptoms for the first few months. Vulnerable.
My alpha side gives a much simpler answer: mine.
I ignore that voice.
"In risk analysis," I say, "you'll see numbers that others prefer to pretend don't exist. If something doesn't add up, don't ignore it."
"Even if someone important doesn't like it?" she asks.
She looks at me, for the first time, directly. There is fear, yes, but also curiosity.
"Especially then," I reply.
The "ding" announces our arrival. The doors open.
The smell of reheated coffee fills the elevator. I step out first. Aurora walks beside me this time, not behind me.
All eyes turn to us. The murmuring subsides. Seeing the owner of the tower appear on your floor with a new employee is not something that happens every day.
I locate Andrade in his glass office. I knock on the frame with my knuckles.
"Good morning," I say when he opens the door.
"M-Mr. Noir," he stammers. "I didn't know..."
"This is Aurora Vega," I interrupt him. "New analyst. Starting today, I want her to focus on a specific project: Seraphim."
I see the name of the project and hers cross paths in Andrade's mind. He doesn't understand half of what it entails, but he understands enough: this is not routine.
"Of course," he says. "Welcome, Miss Vega."
"I want your reports to come to my inbox," I add. "No filters."
Andrade swallows.
"Understood."
I take a step back. I feel Aurora look at me for a moment before forcing herself to look at the office, the monitors, anything but me.
As I walk back to the elevator, a heavy certainty settles in the center of my chest:
I have just put my omega in the middle of the system I handle best.
If something goes wrong, it won't be because of what she sees.
It will be because of what others are willing to do when they discover what she is.