Freya's POV "He insists on joining the game." I rubbed the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly into the WolfComm mic. Even I couldn't hide the note of resignation in my voice. On the other end of the channel, Lana groaned. "What? Freya, I begged you to log in because I need to finish this mission tonight. But if he tags along… how am I supposed to carry a dead weight? He looks like the sort of player who wouldn't know the difference between a scope and a stun grenade." I flicked my gaze sideways. Silas sat on the couch beside me, leaning back with a casual confidence that only Alphas seemed capable of. In the virtual world, his avatar was laughably bare-bones-leather scraps, no proper armor, and a weapon that looked like it would shatter after two swings. He might have commanded the Ironclad Coalition in the flesh, but in-game he was nothing more than a newborn pup stumbling into the hunt. "It'll be fine," I told Lana, my voice clipped. "Just let him stick to my side. He won't slow you down." Silas's golden eyes flicked toward me, unreadable, though there was a ghost of amusement on his lips. Lana muttered something about bad omens, but then sighed in defeat. "Fine. As long as he doesn't get in my way. But seriously, Freya, why is he even playing with us? Doesn't the great Alpha Whitmor have empires to run?" I opened my mouth, but before I could answer, his voice cut through the channel like steel sliding free of a sheath. "Is it so strange for a male to want to follow his mate into battle?" The sound of his voice in the channel startled Lana so badly I heard the crackle of her headset and a muffled curse. "Silas Whitmor is in the room with you?" "Yes." "…And he's your mate?" she demanded, breathless. Heat crawled up the back of my neck. "It's… recent," I admitted, reluctant. There was a beat of silence on the channel. Then Lana erupted into the shrieking laughter of a wild prairie marmot. "Freya! Are you telling me you bonded with that Whitmor and didn't think to tell me? The same Freya who swore she'd never let a male Alpha lay claim to her?"Silas's gaze landed on me, steady, piercing. The weight of it was unbearable, like he was peeling back every layer of my defenses. I cleared my throat sharply and muttered, "I planned to tell you in person. Focus on the mission, Lana." She groaned, muttering about betrayal and best friends, but at least she redirected her attention. The game loaded, throwing us into a war-torn cityscape. Six of us in the squad: Lana, myself, Silas, and three other familiar voices who'd run countless raids with us before. "Stay close," I told Silas firmly, my voice the same command I'd once used to direct warriors of the Iron Fang Recon Unit. "Do not wander. If you fall behind, I won't come back for you." His lips curved faintly. "Understood." We moved through the shattered streets, weapons drawn. My avatar's rifle glinted with enchanted steel mods, the reward of long seasons grinding for resources. Silas trailed close behind me, his rookie avatar sticking out like a pup in a den of seasoned hunters. "Hey, newbie," one of the others teased over comms. "First time, huh?" Silas gave a soft affirmative hum. "What's your name, then?" "Silas Whitmor." The channel went dead silent. Then laughter broke out. "No way. That's the same name as the Ironclad Coalition's Alpha." "Man, you've got some nerve, naming your rookie after him. You trying to cosplay a legend?" "Ha! Next you'll say you're really him. As if the Alpha of the Whitmor family empire has time to play games with us." I could almost feel Lana's exasperation radiating through the comm line. She wanted to shout the truth-that the very Alpha they joked about was sitting here with us, lounging like he had nothing better to do. But she held her tongue, for once. We pressed forward. Gunfire erupted from a rooftop, enemies dropping into our path. My wolf surged as adrenaline spiked through me. My fingers danced across the screen, movements quick and precise. My avatar darted into cover, rolled out, and struck. Headshots dropped one after another. Burst fire cleared corridors. When a teammate was pinned, I shifted seamlessly into support, cutting down their attacker before they fell. The game blurred into instinct, into rhythm. Every kill, every maneuver echoed the training burned into me from the Iron Fang Recon Unit. In this digital battlefield, I wasn't just playing. I was commanding, leading, dominating.Beside me, Silas was silent. But I felt his gaze, heavier than the smoke of burning pixels. Not on the screen-on me. Watching the way my fingers moved, the sharp focus in my eyes, the wolf aura that bled through even into this simulation. "Don't fall behind," I snapped without looking, sensing his distraction. He smirked faintly, his avatar stumbling to keep up with mine. The mission point glowed ahead, but suddenly the streets filled with hostile squads. More than one team. They'd allied together, waiting to ambush us before we reached the target. "Damn it!" Lana cursed, gunfire rattling through her headset. "Are these bastards ever going to let us finish the damn quest?" Explosions tore through the virtual concrete. Our team scrambled for cover. I dropped to a flank, returning fire with ruthless precision. But this was no ordinary skirmish-it was a slaughter waiting to happen. Too many enemies. Too much crossfire. I turned my head toward Silas, his rookie avatar blinking stupidly on the screen. He'd be torn apart in seconds if he tried to fight. "Silas," I barked, voice sharp. "Forget following me. Find cover. Now." For a heartbeat, he hesitated-like the Alpha in him resisted taking orders from me, even here. But then, slowly, I saw his avatar move, ducking behind a collapsed wall. Good. He listened. For once. The roar of battle swallowed us whole. My wolf stretched within me, teeth bared, eager for the fight. And I dove headlong into the storm.