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"Your name," I demand, deliberately keeping my voice in the deeper register that vibrates through my chest—a sound designed to remind omegas of their biological place.

She swallows hard, fighting her body's instinct to submit to the vocal cue. Her throat works visibly with the effort. "Aria Copenhagen."

"You attempted to mask your presentation with herbal suppressants," I observe, circling her slowly. Her scent gives her away—the chemical compounds of eastern frostleaf and midnight nettle lingering beneath her natural omega sweetness. "Knowledge of resistance techniques is a punishable offense."

"They're common medicinal herbs," she counters, turning her head to maintain visual contact as I move behind her. Another unusual response—most would keep their eyes downcast, not track a predator's movements so overtly. "Used for headache relief."

"And conveniently effective at temporarily masking omega pheromones," I add, completing my circuit to face her again. "An interesting coincidence."

"Perhaps your settlements should monitor their herb gardens more carefully if common medicinals represent security threats." Her chin lifts fractionally—a gesture of defiance that makes my tail lash once in surprise.

This close, I can see the rapid pulse at her throat, the dilated pupils that betray her fear despite her verbal bravado. Her scent grows richer as pre-heat symptoms intensify under stress, her body preparing itself despite her mind's obvious rejection. Something about that contradictory response—the defiance inher eyes while her body beckons—triggers an unexpected ripple of interest that I immediately suppress.

"You've been informed of the territorial reassignment?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Yes." A single syllable, loaded with resentment.

"And you were planning to reach dragon territory before your heat manifested fully." Not a question.

Her silence is confirmation enough.

"A foolish plan," I tell her bluntly. "Dragon patrols would have caught you within hours, and their treatment of captured omegas is not the romantic claiming you've clearly fantasized about."

Something flickers across her face—uncertainty breaking through defiance. "You wouldn't know what they?—"

"I've spent twenty years in territorial conflicts with dragons," I interrupt, turning to reveal the burn scars visible along my flank where my uniform doesn't fully cover. "I know exactly what they do to claimed omegas. Their dual anatomy causes internal damage most humans don't survive intact, and those who do are permanently altered by fire-seed that burns human tissue from inside."

She flinches visibly, though whether from this information or my monstrous appearance, I can't tell. For a brief moment, I catch a glimpse of the same doubt I'd seen in her eyes when I mentioned dragon cruelty—as though someone else had already warned her of this reality, but she hadn't fully believed it until now.

"You will be assigned to heat-containment chamber three," I continue, gesturing for the junior officers to prepare for transport. "After your cycle completes, you'll be processed for facility transfer."

"Facility?" Her composure cracks slightly. "You mean breeding center."

"That is the protocol for unclaimed omegas," I confirm without emotion. "Unless an alpha of appropriate rank chooses to claim you directly."

Her eyes widen fractionally, darting over my inhuman features with poorly concealed horror at the implication. The disgust in her expression shouldn't bother me—I've seen similar reactions from countless humans over the years—yet something about her obvious revulsion strikes deeper than expected. A primal rage, possessive and absolute, claws momentarily at my control. Not because I want her, but because her rejection stings in places I thought long calloused over.

"I have no interest in claiming unwilling omegas," I inform her coldly. "Particularly those with dragon fixations. The facility will process you appropriately."

Relief washes visibly through her, quickly followed by new calculation. She's reassessing her situation, looking for advantages or escape opportunities. Unusual clarity of thought for an omega in pre-heat.

"Commander," she begins, her tone shifting to something less confrontational. "I have valuable knowledge of trading routes through the contested territories. Information that could be useful to the Confederacy before I'm...processed."

An attempt at bargaining. Predictable, if better articulated than most. For a moment, I consider her offer. She clearly knows the terrain well, possibly better than our maps indicate. In another situation, such knowledge might indeed be valuable.

"All relevant information will be extracted during standard questioning," I reply dismissively. "Lieutenant Thorne will oversee your chamber assignment."

I turn to leave, forcing myself not to react to the spike of fear-scent that emanates from her as the reality of her situation finally penetrates. Three days of heat in isolation, followed by facility transfer. The biological imperatives she's likely neverexperienced before will break through her unusual composure soon enough.

"Commander." Thorne appears at my side as I exit the processing chamber. "Your assessment?"

My tail sways slowly behind me, considering. "Standard protocol. Heat containment, then facility transfer."

"Not considering claiming? She presents unusual characteristics for breeding potential. Her height and build suggest offspring with enhanced physical capabilities."

My ears flatten against my skull. "I don't require breeding recommendations, Lieutenant."

"Of course, sir." Thorne's tone remains neutral, but his scent carries notes of disappointment and calculation. "Though I feel obligated to mention that Command has specifically inquired about your claiming intentions in the latest communication."