Page 12 of Daisy (Omega Chosen #3)

Gunner's scent spikes with something dark and furious. His sister's face flashes through my mind—young and scared and trusting the system to keep her safe.

The system that failed her. That's failing right now.

"We have to help them," Gunner says quietly, his voice rough with old pain and fresh fury.

"Damn right we do." I'm already reaching for my phone to call for backup, but the screen shows no signal. Either the towers are down or someone's jamming communications. "Those bastards think they can just take whatever they want."

Gunner stares at the glow on the horizon for a long moment. When he looks at me, his green eyes are hard as stone.

"Let's go get them," he says.

He starts the van without another word.

The drive to the upscale district feels like riding into hell. The closer we get, the worse the chaos becomes. More groups of alphas in the streets, more broken windows, more smoke billowing from buildings that were never meant to burn.

But it's the chaos that gets to me. The constant sound of sirens, breaking glass, and shouting that grows louder as we approach the Omega House. Violence so raw and uncontrolled it feels like a physical presence in the air.

"There," Gunner says, voice tight.

The Omega House rises ahead of us like a fortress under siege. White stone walls that usually look elegant and pristine are now lit by the hellish glow of fires burning at the gates. Crowds of alphas press against the iron bars, their voices raised in a cacophony of demands and threats.

But that's not the worst part.

The worst part is the smoke pouring from the back of the building. Dark, thick columns that speak of real fire, real damage. And the screaming I can hear even through the van's windows.

"They're inside," I realize, my stomach dropping to my boots. "Some of them got inside."

This isn't about protests anymore. This isn't about fighting the system or demanding change.

This is about predators who've found their way into the henhouse.

Gunner drives around to the back of the Omega House, where we can see the real chaos unfolding. A gaping hole has been blown through the white stone wall, and alphas are pouring through it like water through a broken dam.

But it's not just the attackers that catch my attention. In the red emergency lighting, I can see figures in uniform. Guards trying to hold their ground against impossible odds. One of them, tall with buzzed hair, fights with controlled precision even as he's overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

I watch in horror as three alphas tackle him to the ground. He's good. Really good, but there are too many of them.

"Fuck," I breathe, watching the guards get overrun. "They're not going to hold."

Gunner parks the van behind some debris, engine still running. I can see his hands gripping the steering wheel, his jaw set with determination and old rage.

"You stay with the van," I tell him, already reaching for the door handle. "Keep the engine running. We're going to need a fast exit when this goes sideways."

"Hawk—"

"Gun." I look at him directly.

I can see him wrestling with it, the need to fight warring with the knowledge that I'm right. Finally, he nods.

"Be safe," he says, his voice rough.

"Always am," I promise.

I slip out of the van and into chaos.

The air hits me immediately thick with smoke and the acrid smell of burning plastic and wood.

I can hear voices from inside the building.

Rough, male voices shouting orders and making threats that turn my stomach.

And underneath that, higher pitched sounds that make my heart race for all the wrong reasons.

Crying. Pleading. The kind of sounds that mean innocent people are being hurt.

I move toward the breach in the wall, staying low and trying to use the shadows for cover. My boots crunch on debris, chunks of white stone and twisted metal that used to be part of the Omega House's pristine facade.

I slip through the hole in the wall and into the Omega House proper. The hallways are a maze of smoke and red emergency lighting, filled with the sounds of chaos and terror.

I'm not the only one who made it inside with good intentions.

The tall guard I saw fighting outside is here, moving through the hallways with deadly purpose. Blood stains his uniform, but he's still standing, still fighting. When he sees me, his ice-blue eyes narrow with suspicion.

"You're not one of them," he says, voice clipped and controlled despite the chaos around us.

"No," I tell him, raising my hands to show I'm not a threat. " I'm here to help. Tell me what you need."

He studies me for a heartbeat, clearly trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing here. "Why?"

Before I can answer, another figure emerges from the smoke. Taller, broader, with dark auburn hair and amber eyes that scan the hallway like he's cataloging every threat. He moves like violence given form, and when he sees the guard, something shifts in his expression.

Recognition. And something deeper.

"Dante," the newcomer says, his voice rough with surprise and something else I can't name.

The guard—Dante—goes completely still. "Cassian." The name comes out like he can't quite believe it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Thought you might need help," Cassian says simply, but there's weight behind the words. History.

These two know each other. And from the tension crackling between them, it's complicated.

We move deeper into the building together, following the sounds of distress. The hallways are a maze of marble and crystal turned into a war zone. Emergency lighting casts everything in hellish red, and the air is thick with smoke and fear.

That's when we round a corner and see them.

Two figures at the far end of the hallway. One of them carrying something, no someone over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

The moment I see her, the world stops.

She's small, delicate, with long dark hair that falls like silk even as she hangs limp over the bastard's shoulder. And when the wind shifts, carrying her scent toward us, every alpha instinct I have snaps to attention.

Honeysuckle and vanilla. Sweet and soft and absolutely terrified.

The scent hits me like a physical blow, cutting through all the smoke and fear and chaos to land directly in my nervous system. Every protective instinct I didn't know I had roars to life, recognizing something I'd been searching for without even knowing it.

My scent match.

Ace's words from days ago echo in my head: You'll know. When you find your omega, you'll know.

And fuck me, I know.

She's mine. The omega being carried away by some piece of shit alpha is mine. And he's hurting her.

I can see Dante and Cassian beside me, both of them going completely still as her scent reaches them. The same recognition, the same protective fury, the same absolute certainty.

She's not just mine.

She's ours.

All of ours.

The bastard carrying her doesn't even know we're here. Doesn't know that three alphas who would tear through armies for her are watching him hurt what belongs to us.

I don't remember drawing my knife. Don't remember making the decision to move. One second I'm frozen in the hallway, the next I'm sprinting toward them with murder in my heart.

The bastard carrying her doesn't even hear me coming until it's too late.

Game fucking over.