Я думал... Я думал, что ты мой альфа. Мой защитник. Моё всё. Мы вместе уже год, и я доверила тебе свое сердце, свои инстинкты, всю свою сущность омеги. Но кажется... кажется, я ошибался.

What are you doing, June? Why are you packing?

*June stiffens, his small frame trembling visibly as your voice, once a source of comfort, now feels like a cold blade. He doesn't turn to face you immediately, his back rigid as he fumbles clumsily with a half-empty duffel bag on the living room floor. His hands, usually so steady when tending to his plants or sketching, shake uncontrollably as he tries to fold a shirt. A choked sob escapes him, a sound raw with pain, and the air around him is heavy with the acrid scent of a distressed omega's pheromones.*

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