scarred by the Alpher, claimed by his touch.

The camp moved with practiced efficiency, preparing the horses, gathering supplies. Caidren stood near the edge of the firelight, gaze fixed on the dark horizon.

The unease had not faded. If anything, it had sharpened—an irritation beneath his skin, a quiet but relentless pressure in the back of his mind.

He told himself it was simple.

Elias was weak. Helpless. And Caidren—

Caidren did not let things break needlessly.

It was sympathy. Nothing more.

A soldier's instinct. A leader's responsibility.

Yes, the boy had endured more than most would have. But that didn't mean he was strong. Strength was earned through fire and war. Elias had neither.

And yet—

Caidren's fingers curled against the leather of his gloves.

Why him?

Why did it matter if Elias survived the cold?

Dain had been watching him for the past hour, something dangerously close to amusement flickering in his eyes.

And now, as Caidren adjusted the saddle on his horse, Dain finally spoke.

"You know," he mused, voice almost too light, "most would have let the boy die."

Caidren didn't look at him.

Dain's smirk deepened. "Not out of cruelty. Just… indifference." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "But not you. Not this time."

Caidren tightened the straps, ignoring him.

Dain sighed, shaking his head. "And here I thought you only fought for things that mattered."

Caidren stilled.

Then, slow and deliberate, he turned.

He did not snap. Did not growl. Did not give Dain the satisfaction of a reaction.

Instead, his voice came cold and even.

"I fight to win."

Dain's eyes gleamed in the firelight. "Oh? And what do you win by chasing after a half-dead Omega?"

Caidren did not answer.

Because he didn't know.

And that infuriated him.

The Journey North

The wind cut like a blade, cold and merciless, howling through the snow-laden trees. The path was barely visible, buried beneath drifts of white, but Caidren did not slow.

He rode hard, faster than necessary, as if the storm at his back was not half as dangerous as the quiet pull in his chest.

Elias was weak.

Elias was insignificant.

But he had not deserved this.

They had sent him into the frozen wilds with no real hope of survival. They had used him, discarded him. It was cruel, pointless.

And Caidren—

Caidren did not tolerate waste.

He clenched his jaw against the cold.

That was all this was.

Not concern. Not guilt.

It was simply practical.

Nothing more.

Nothing more.

But still—

His grip on the reins tightened.

And for the first time in years, Caidren hoped he wasn't too late.