Then: "Youwhat?"
"Bonded. With an Omega." I tug at the cuffs again, more out of habit than hope. "And as for the townhouse thing, I had the best one-night stand ever and am currently locked in handcuffs I actually can't get out of. So, I may need you to intrude."
Another pause.
I can practically hear Jett processing—that sharp, analytical mind cataloguing variables, calculating risks, mapping out the implications of what I've just told him.
"You're serious."
"Completely."
"You bonded with an Omega you just met."
"Technically, I've known her for five years." I shift on the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. "She's my pen pal. The one I've been writing to. S.E."
The silence that follows is loaded with questions I know Jett is too disciplined to ask over an unsecured line.
Then the window slides open.
No warning.
No sound.
Just the sudden rush of morning air and then Jett is there—crouched on the windowsill in all black, somehow having scaled the exterior of the townhome without making a single noise that would alert me to his approach.
Aerialist assassin.
Silent as death.
And currently staring at me with an expression that's equal parts disbelief and reluctant amusement.
"Never thought the day would come," he says slowly, swinging his legs inside and dropping to the floor with predatory grace, "where an Omega outsmarts the grand escape artist of all the land."
I roll my eyes. "Just unlock me already."
"No."
He doesn't move toward the bed.
Instead, his head tilts—that bird-like motion he does when he's processing sensory information—and his nostrils flare.
I watch his expression shift.
Something flickers across his face—interest, surprise, and underneath it, the unmistakable spark ofwantthat I felt when I first caught her scent outside the post office.
"Why the fuck," Jett says slowly, "does it smell like the best cotton candy I'd ever want?"
I smirk.
Can't help it.
"That," I say, letting satisfaction color my voice, "is the scent of our Omega."
Jett's head rotates.
Full owl movement—nearly one-eighty degrees, his body staying perfectly still while his neck does something that would be anatomically impossible for anyone who hasn't spent years training their joints to dislocate on command.
It's eerie as fuck.
