Finley Byrne had spent his entire life following the path that had been set for him. 

He woke up at precisely 4:10 a.m. every single day, whether he had a shift at the hospital or not, his body attuned to wake well before the dawning rise of the sun slanted through the skyscrapers to illuminate his room. He then let himself lay in his bed, arm thrown over his eyes, convincing himself with everything he had that he had chosen the right path, that he was doing not only what was best, but what was expected of him, what was required of him, for exactly three minutes and twenty six seconds longer. Reminded himself that he loved what he did, even as he lost faith in the system he was part of, even as the hope and compassion within him died a little more, with every passing day. 

For, he was an alpha, after all, and he had a role to play in this world, whether he liked it or not. That much had been drilled into him, imprinted on his very soul, since the moment he was old enough to understand the meaning of the words. 

By 4:14, he was out of his bed and striding toward the gargantuan double doors leading to the massive bathroom fashioned of white marble and black metal so stark the sight of it ached his still-waking-eyes, flicking on the lights as he passed. And, just like he did every morning, Finn braced his hands to the cool black stone of his countertop, shifted to stare at his reflection in the illuminated glass, met with the same reflection that had always been there. Dark brown eyes with the faintest golden ring circuiting his pupils stared back at him, that circlet lying in wait to consume the tilled earth of his gaze, flooding it golden and announcing his secondary gender to the world. But that gaze did not activate-- it never had outside of his rut, in fact, and he doubted it would start now. 

Rather, Finn merely pushed the thought aside as he shoved his long blond hair out of his face, grabbing a hair tie from the porcelain dish on the counter, and tying it into a knot at the nape of his neck before reaching for his toothbrush. He wet the bristles, covered them in a squeeze of toothpaste, and wet it again before tucking it into his mouth, sharp, aching canines flashing with the movement. 

A throb the alpha could barely spare a thought for as his dark gaze flickered down to the small clock on the counter, and the time it presented. 

By 4:20, he was leaving the bathroom and pulling on the sweatpants and T-shirt he'd laid out the night before, the same black and white clothes he wore everyday, before sitting on the bench at the end of his bed to slide his feet into well worn sneakers. 

At 4:26, he was closing his front door behind him, the lock engaging with a faint electronic beep, before taking off in a brisk jog down the sidewalk, alone in the dark, pre-dawn coolness. When he passed by the Alorhes' house four doors down, his jog turned into a swift, steady run as he chased the dawn. 

And it was always precisely 4:53 when Finn returned to his house, unlocking his front door and clattering up the stairs without so much as a look at his surroundings, his chest heaving with panting breaths that stirred the sweat-sodden strands of blond hair plastered to his cheeks.

By 4:55, he was opening the glass door of his shower and turning on the massive waterfall head as cold as it would go before tugging off the sweat-soaked clothes that clung to him, and slipping beneath the frigid spray. 

He hissed through his teeth at the shock, never quite able to grow accustomed to the chill no matter how often is assailed him, standing there for a moment as his muscles stiffened with aching discomfort, before he finally allowed himself to turn the dial hotter, letting his aches ease with the gradual warmer shift. 

Finn always scrubbed the same eucalyptus scented shampoo roughly into his scalp, letting it wash down the lengths of his hair as he tilted his head back into the spray to briskly wash it out, before smoothing conditioner of the same scent over the strands. He combed his fingers through his hair, detangling it as quickly as he could while still being gentle, and left it there to soak as he quickly, almost roughly, scrubbed his body with an unscented soap, mindful of the sore scent glands in his wrists and the sides of his neck as he did. 

Sighing, he gently palpated one of the glands in his neck, hissing through his teeth at the ache, and, as he shifted under the spray once more, mentally calculated how long until his next rut. 

He counted the days backwards, trying to recall when he'd last had his cycle, as he rinsed the soap from his skin and distractedly watched it swirl down the drain at his feet. His blond brows furrowed as he tilted his head back to wash out the conditioner, sure he had to be misremembering. 

Because surely it hadn't been two and a half months since his last cycle, he had only skipped his rut once, okay maybe twice, when the hospital had needed him. Suppressants existed for a reason after all. 

But it hadn't occurred to him until that moment that those two skipped cycles equated two months, and the ache in his glands suddenly made complete sense. 

As an alpha, Finn's body needed to not only produce pheromones, but consume them as well, in order to properly function. But as a doctor, he spent his days with his natural instincts muted with medication, so he couldn't hurt himself or anyone else, should a heated omega, or by some grace of god his fated mate, cross his path. 

A requirement he was quickly coming to regret as another throbbing pang assailed his glands, reminding him of the folly of his choices. 

As Finn shut off the water and scrubbed himself dry roughly, he couldn't help but gently reach a mental hand toward the silent bond slumbering in his soul, the link between himself and his mate, the one divinely intended just for him, and gave it a gentle, encouraging tug.

But, as always, at 5:22 in the morning, precisely on schedule, that tether remained resolutely silent, offering naught but the faint presence of his mate at its other end. 

6:07 had Finn clattering down those stairs once more, clad in his uniform-- a pair of teal scrubs and non-slip white sneakers, his lab coat draped over his arm. His long, shoulder length blond tresses were half bound into a small bun at the back of his head, the rest left to caress the sides of his neck as he went. 

He snagged his badge from the kitchen island and clipped it to the chest pocket of his scrubs before tossing his backpack over one shoulder, and snagging his car key with the other. 

Finn slipped through the kitchen door into his garage, unlocked his car with a faint beep as the door shut behind him, and locked said door with an easy twist of his wrist. He strode confidently across the concrete, pulling his car door open and tossing his backpack and lab coat onto the seat next to him as he slid behind the wheel. 

It was always precisely 6:12 in the morning when Finn closed his door with one hand, and turned the key with the other. He pawed, unseeing, for the remote as he flipped through the playlist on his phone, and heard the mechanical creaking of the heavy metal yawning open in the same instant he pressed play. His phone went onto its stand with one hand, as his belt was fastened with the other. 

And by 6:15, Finn was backing out of his garage. He began down his street, closing his garage door with a press of the remote, and heard the answering clang of the hefted metal's collision with the concrete below. 

The thundering bass of Finn's favorite song did little to soothe him, even as his fingers tapped out the familiar beat, though he couldn't place the strange feeling that diffused him, weighing his bones down with an uneasy feeling he couldn't shake. 

But despite that anxious fluttering in his belly, Finn pulled into the drive-thru of his favorite cafe, Sugar, Spice and everything Nostalgico, at exactly 6:21, as he did every morning. He rolled down his window just in time to be greeted by the same bubbly, cheerful voice as always. 

"Good morning, Dr. Byrne!" Camilla chirruped brightly through the speaker, the smile in her voice so evident that Finn couldn't help returning it, though he wasn’t quite sure she could see him. 

"How did you know it was me?" Finn asked as his smile spread, leaning an arm onto his door frame to brace a fist under his chin. 

"You're very predictable, Dr. Byrne," Camilla replied instantly, though not unkindly, and Finn couldn't quite contain the bark of laughter that responded in kind. 

"Touché, dear."

"Same order as always?" she guessed, and Finn suddenly felt the most bizarre urge to deviate from his expected path, even if just an inch or two. 

"Yes, but add a caramel macchiato with six shots of espresso, please, dear," Finn said, the strangest sort of vibration trembling just beneath his skin. "Addison is on shift with me this morning." 

"Coming right up!" Camilla confirmed brightly, without an ounce of hesitation or question as she simply prompted Finn forward to the window. 

By 6:26, the window was opening, and the cheerful, bright eyed barista was passing Finn his order, but refusing the offer of his card. 

"I have a feeling about today," she offered as her only explanation, a sly smile curling her heart-shaped lips and creasing her brown, freckled face with mischievous joy. "So it's on the house. Tell Addie I said hello!" 

Finn's brows furrowed as he smiled, but with a soft confirmation, he continued on as he always did.

He had never been late, after all, and he couldn’t possibly start now, not with the discomforting, aching sensation throbbing at his bones, something within him whispering the importance of keeping to that irritatingly planned path his life had always followed. So, instead, he made a silent vow to sneak the total into the brightly painted tip jar at his next visit, intent to repay the bubbly barista despite the paltry amount. Surely she couldn’t refuse a tip from her most loyal, regular customer…right?

With that thought on his mind, Finn pulled from the lot of Sugar, Spice and everything Nostalgico at precisely 6:29 as he always did, turning right towards the hospital that loomed in the distance. 

But at 6:31 in the morning, his day sharply veered off its predicted, normal path, as that bond within his soul shifted and yawned open for the first time, flooding Finn with a feeling of anxious unease so profound he nearly swerved into the black sedan to his left. 

Because that emotion was not his own…it was his mate's.