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My hand moves to my belly without thinking, a protective gesture that's become as natural as breathing. "Council enforcement?" I ask, though my gut already knows it's worse.

"Specialist hunters. Binding team." His tail lashes behind him, the only outlet for the rage coiled in his muscles. "Units designed specifically for taking down Chimerics."

The meaning hits me like a physical blow. Binding teams aren't just enforcers—they're specialized squads with technology designed to permanently ground flying Primes. They don't capture; they cripple.

My medical knowledge supplies horrifying details I wish I could forget—severed wing tendons that never heal properly, drugs that sever the neural pathways between brain and wings, chemicals that make flight muscles brittle as old paper. I've treated the aftermath at the settlement clinic—Primes reduced to earth-bound shadows, their wings dead weight dragging behind them like broken dreams.

"How many?" I manage, my mouth dry as dust at the thought of Vex's powerful wings—wings that can slice through hurricane winds—turned into useless appendages.

"Five. Two binders, three support. All wearing Council Elite insignia," he explains, pacing deeper into the den with movements too controlled to hide his agitation. "This isn't about territory violations. This is a targeted recovery operation."

"Targeted?" I repeat, though a sick certainty is already crawling through my chest. "For what?"

"For you."

His direct stare makes denial impossible. The realization slams into me, sending nausea through my system that has nothing to do with pregnancy hormones. "They're coming specifically for me. Not because you broke some rule."

Vex nods, his wings finally folding against his back though they stay partially extended—ready for flight at a heartbeat's notice. "Captain Kain escalated to the highest levels. Breeding Authority override protocols are in effect. Your medical skills combined with successful pregnancy makes you what they call a high-value acquisition target."

The clinical language doesn't soften the brutal truth. My pregnancy has transformed me from escaped property to premium breeding asset—an omega proven compatible with Chimeric genetics represents a scientific goldmine the Council would spare no expense to claim. And if acquiring me means permanently grounding the territorial alpha who dared claim me against their orders? That's just a bonus from their perspective.

"They'll drag me to a breeding facility," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "Run experiments. Study how the baby develops."

"Yeah." Vex doesn't waste energy on false comfort. "And use your medical knowledge to help process other claimed omegas. Double the return on their investment."

I sink onto a stone bench, my legs suddenly unreliable. The weight of the baby—still so small but already changing everything—feels heavier than it should. "How long do we have?"

"Two days. Maybe three if the weather turns nasty." He moves to his weapon cache, selecting blades with the focused attention of someone whose life depends on sharp edges. "The storm building over the northwest ridge might slow them down if it hits hard enough."

"But they'll come regardless."

"Yes."

That single word carries more dread than a thousand explanations. Council Elite forces with specialized binding technology, coming specifically for me, with authority that overrides even Vex's territorial claim and our documented pregnancy.

"What do we do?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds. Eight years of fierce independence reduced to depending on a Prime's protection—exactly what I'd fought so hard to avoid.

Vex pauses in his weapon inspection, those yellow eyes finding mine with laser focus. "You need to be ready to move independently if we get separated during the confrontation."

The words hit like ice water in my veins. Despite our complicated beginning, I've grown to depend on Vex's protection in ways I never expected. The thought of facing Council forces alone—pregnant, exhausted, without his lethal strength between me and them—creates terror that threatens to drown rational thought.

"You think they'll split us up," I say. Not a question but acknowledgment of what we both know.

"Standard operating procedure." He tests another blade against his scales, the metal singing softly. "Binding teams always neutralize the alpha first, then extract the omega. Clean, efficient, no interference."

The strategy makes perfect tactical sense. Incapacitate the territorial defender, then collect the valuable resource without complications. I've seen the aftermath when treating omegas at our clinic—women traumatized not just by separation but by watching their alphas being systematically destroyed.

"I can't outrun Council forces," I say, medical reality crushing desperate hope. "Not pregnant. Not without your ability to fly."

"Not by running," Vex agrees, moving closer. He crouches to bring his intimidating height down to my level, one massive hand carefully covering where my own still protects my belly. "But through the routes we've mapped, the hidden supply caches, using the terrain they don't understand. Everything I've taught you gives you advantages they won't expect."

I see what he's doing—channeling my fear into actionable strategy, providing frameworks for resistance that don't rely solely on his protection. The approach makes sense, yet does nothing to calm the terror racing through my bloodstream.

"What about you?" I ask, the question surprising us both with its emotional weight. "Binding teams are designed specifically to... to permanently ground flying Primes."

Something shifts in his expression—surprise at my concern, maybe, or recognition of vulnerability he usually hides beneath territorial dominance. "I've evaded binding teams before. These mountains have secrets Council forces don't know."

"But not forever," I press, my medical training supplying unwanted knowledge of how binding teams operate—their patience, their specialized tracking technology, their willingness to wait days for the perfect moment to strike.