My heart skips as irrational fear suggests he might not be breathing, panic flooding my system before rational observation confirms the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.

He's exhausted.

The recognition carries guilt alongside relief—understanding that my physical limitations and pharmaceutical recovery have forced additional burden onto someone already pushed beyond normal endurance through systematic combat and enhanced stress.

He's been carrying me literally and figuratively, providing protection and navigation while I drifted through sedated semiconsciousness.

I'm supposed to be the badass here. The strategist who planned this entire operation and recruited the team necessary for success.

Instead, I've become dead weight that slows progress and requires constant attention despite claims of enhanced capability and tactical superiority.

The reality stings worse than any physical injury—recognition that preparation and training couldn't eliminate fundamental limitations created through pharmaceutical intervention and institutional manipulation.

I shift slightly, testing whether movement might rouse him from much-needed rest. Perhaps I can scout the area while he recovers, identify potential threats or navigation opportunities that might facilitate continued progress toward our next objective.

But his arms tighten around my waist before I can fully disengage, unconscious response that speaks to protective instinct operating even during sleep.

The movement pulls me more securely against his chest while mumbled words emerge through whatever dreams occupy his resting mind.

"Should rest more."

The instruction carries authority despite his semi-unconscious state, alpha directive issued through subconscious awareness of omega proximity and potential vulnerability.

Even asleep, he's monitoring my condition and responding to perceived needs with gentle dominance that makes my heart flutter with unexpected warmth.

"Are you awake?" I whisper, uncertain whether his words represent conscious response or sleep-talking triggered by my movement.

"Mmm," comes the noncommittal response as his arms adjust to hold me more comfortably against his relaxed frame.

The sound carries enough awareness to suggest partial consciousness—that liminal state between sleeping and waking where response becomes possible without full alertness or complete cognitive engagement.

He's monitoring our surroundings while resting, enhanced senses maintaining protective vigil despite physical recuperation requirements.

Relief flows through me at confirmation of his continued awareness, followed immediately by renewed guilt at the burden my condition places on his already overtaxed systems.

"I feel like I'm slowing you down," I admit with reluctant honesty, the confession emerging without strategic consideration or tactical filtering.

"No," he responds with immediate certainty that suggests the concern has already been considered and dismissed. "You're not. But after walking five hours, I needed a break."

Five hours?

The timeframe hits with shocking force—recognition that I lost significantly more time to pharmaceutical sedation than anticipated.

The entire afternoon consumed by unconsciousness while he navigated institutional territory alone, carrying my dead weight through whatever challenges and obstacles our route presented.

"I wasn't possibly knocked out for that long," I protest, though the evidence suggests otherwise given our current location and his evident exhaustion.

"You were," he confirms with patient gentleness. "Probably due to lingering effects of the medication and obvious exhaustion. Enhanced healing requires significant energy expenditure, especially when combating pharmaceutical interference with natural recovery processes."

The explanation makes biological sense despite my reluctance to acknowledge such extensive vulnerability.

Chemical sedation combined with physical trauma and emotional stress would naturally require extended recovery period, particularly given enhanced metabolism that processes toxins more rapidly but demands greater nutritional resources during elimination phases.

"Yeah, but you haven't rested," I point out with growing concern for his condition despite understanding of my own limitations.

His responding sigh carries complexity that speaks to issues beyond simple physical fatigue.

"I don't need a lot of rest," he admits with reluctance that suggests discomfort with perceived weakness or limitation.

"Actually gives me anxiety to sleep for extended periods.

I've gotten used to sleeping thirty to sixty minutes at a time, maximum, because I have to be prepared to jump into any fight at a moment's notice. "

The revelation hits with devastating impact as implications crystallize through my improving awareness.

Six years of systematic conditioning designed to eliminate natural rest cycles in favor of constant vigilance and combat readiness. Sleep transformed from restorative necessity into dangerous vulnerability that might cost life if maintained beyond minimal requirements.

What kind of existence is that? What does constant hypervigilance do to mental health and emotional stability over extended periods?

I try to imagine living with such systematic anxiety—never allowing true rest, never permitting guard to drop completely, never trusting the environment enough to achieve deep sleep that natural recovery demands.

The psychological toll would be devastating even for enhanced subjects with superior stress tolerance and adaptive capabilities.

"Your life has been..." I struggle for words that might adequately express horror at such existence without sounding pitying or condescending.

He must sense the direction of my thoughts because his response carries matter-of-fact acceptance rather than invitation for sympathy or emotional support.

"Survival-focused," he states simply. "Every decision, every action, every response optimized for continued existence rather than comfort or long-term sustainability. You adapt to whatever circumstances demand, or you die. Simple as that."

The clinical assessment can't completely mask underlying pain—recognition of humanity sacrificed for institutional requirements, natural needs subordinated to tactical necessity until normal function becomes impossible rather than merely difficult.

Understanding floods through me with an accompanying surge of determination that transcends personal objective or pack loyalty.

This man— this magnificent alpha who fought through impossible odds to protect me —deserves better than existence reduced to mere survival optimization. He deserves rest and peace and safety enough to sleep through natural cycles without constant threat assessment.

They all deserve better than what institutional conditioning has reduced them to.

"I trained outside these walls," I confess with quiet intensity, the admission emerging without conscious decision or strategic consideration. "For years, I worked with specialized trainers to develop capabilities that would let me defend myself and not be a burden when I returned for you."

The confession carries weight beyond simple information sharing—acknowledgment of preparation and dedication that drove every decision during external existence.

Every skill acquired, every technique practiced, every enhancement refined had focused on a single objective: returning capable enough to contribute rather than hinder reunion attempts.

"But it seems I wasn't able to avoid that," I continue with bitter recognition of current reality. "Despite all the training and preparation, I'm still dead weight that requires protection rather than providing it."

His response comes immediately and with surprising vehemence that cuts through my self-recrimination like a heated blade through soft metal.

"You're not a burden. You're motivation for me to keep going, so you shouldn't think that way."

The conviction in his voice carries absolute certainty that transcends logical argument or tactical assessment.

Not false reassurance or empty comfort, but genuine belief expressed with intensity that makes further protest seem almost insulting.

"You're our omega," he continues with quiet authority that speaks to fundamental truth rather than designation politics or biological imperative.

"We may be rather hyper-independent, but that doesn't mean your existence isn't validated.

Your presence makes us stronger, not weaker, regardless of temporary physical limitations or recovery requirements. "

Warmth spreads through my chest at his words—not just relief but deeper recognition of value that extends beyond immediate tactical utility or strategic contribution.

The pack dynamic I'd theorized about and hoped for but never truly experienced until these precious moments of genuine connection.

A loud ding echoes through the artificial forest with electronic precision that seems jarring against organic surroundings. The sound carries institutional authority that transforms peaceful sanctuary into reminded containment, peaceful rest into tactical preparation for whatever challenge awaits.

Riot's entire body shifts with instant alertness—muscles tensing beneath my cheek as enhanced senses activate with combat readiness that bypasses conscious thought to access survival protocols honed through years of systematic conditioning.

"It's time," he announces with grim satisfaction that suggests anticipation rather than dread at approaching confrontation.

"Time for what?" I ask, confusion cutting through my own awakening awareness as he moves with fluid efficiency to standing position while maintaining secure grip that prevents falling or stumbling.

His assistance brings me upright with gentle strength that makes the transition effortless despite lingering pharmaceutical effects and physical weakness.

Enhanced alpha capability directed toward protective care rather than tactical dominance, power applied with consideration rather than overwhelming force.

"Judgment time," he responds with a predatory smile that transforms his features from protective to dangerous in a heartbeat. The expression carries anticipation that speaks to reunion with a pack member rather than approaching threat or institutional challenge.

Before I can process implications or ask clarifying questions, movement draws my attention to previously invisible architecture emerging from forest camouflage with mechanical precision.

A door materializes from what appeared to be solid tree trunk—sophisticated concealment that speaks to advanced engineering rather than simple visual deception.

"This door only opens once a day," Riot explains as he takes my hand with a firm grip that communicates both protection and urgency. "Which is why it made sense to walk around for five hours. I didn't want them to suspect that I knew where it leads."

Understanding dawns with appreciation for tactical thinking that operates beyond immediate gratification in favor of long-term strategic advantage.

He'd known our destination from the beginning but waited for optimal timing rather than revealing knowledge that might compromise future navigation or trigger enhanced security protocols.

The door swings open to reveal a sterile corridor that contrasts sharply with the organic environment we're leaving behind.

Fluorescent lighting and reinforced walls speak to the return to institutional reality after brief respite in artificial nature—reminder that sanctuary represents temporary illusion rather than genuine escape from systematic containment.

Riot pulls me behind him with protective urgency that suggests approaching danger despite our progress toward reunion with our pack member. His body language radiates alert readiness that makes my pulse quicken with sympathetic response to perceived threat.

"Time to see our executor of judgment alpha in action," he states with grim anticipation that makes my heart race with mixture of excitement and concern.

We move through sterile corridors with purpose that speaks to clear destination despite unfamiliar territory.

His navigation carries confidence that transcends visual confirmation—enhanced spatial awareness guiding steps through institutional maze with accuracy that suggests innate understanding rather than memorized routes.

The hallways stretch in characteristic institutional monotony—polished floors reflecting harsh lighting, reinforced barriers marking security checkpoints, surveillance equipment tracking movement with mechanical precision that never sleeps or shows mercy.

But something feels different about this level compared to previous institutional architecture.

The construction carries greater sophistication, enhanced security measures that speak to higher-value containment or more dangerous subjects requiring specialized protocols.

We reach what appears to be a secure entrance—reinforced door with advanced locking mechanisms and monitoring systems that suggest restricted access rather than general passage.

Riot positions me carefully beside the threshold before meeting my gaze with an expression that carries both protectiveness and determination.

"You need to stay here while I cause some chaos," he instructs with authority that brooks no argument despite concern evident in his tone. "Whatever you do, don't let strangers in here."

The instruction triggers immediate confusion about practical implementation and tactical reasoning behind such precaution.

"What about Sable?" I ask, recognizing potential complication in identifying friend versus enemy when visual confirmation might prove insufficient for accurate assessment.

Riot's responding smirk carries dark amusement that speaks to a private joke or recognition of irony I don't yet grasp.

"Yeah," he acknowledges with satisfaction that suggests anticipation rather than concern. "I guess we're technically still strangers with everyone here joining us on our challenging journey."

His pause builds dramatic tension before delivering conclusion with quiet certainty that resonates through the institutional corridor with promise rather than threat.

"But he's gonna be the redemption we need to get out of here."

The words hang between us like a sacred vow—recognition of approaching reunion with a pack member whose capabilities might provide the key to eventual freedom from institutional walls that have contained us all for far too long.