The crime scene was disturbingly quiet, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. The penthouse apartment was pristine—except for the horror at its center.

Amanda Carlisle, Alpha, CEO. Tied to a chair. Tortured. Left to bleed out.

On the wall, in smeared, drying blood, the same words as before:

I SEE YOU.

Callum exhaled sharply, the sight far too familiar. His sharp eyes scanned the room, memorizing every detail. The ropes binding her wrists. The clean, calculated cuts. The expression of agony frozen on her face. This was no spontaneous attack. This was controlled.

Emery stood beside him, his body tense. Callum noticed how still he had become, as if every cell in his body had locked in place.

Then, Emery stiffened. His breath hitched.

And in the next second—

He staggered.

A sharp, strangled gasp tore from his throat as his hands flew up, clutching at his chest. His knees buckled.

“Emery?” Callum turned instantly, grabbing his arm just as his partner collapsed against him. “Hey—what the fuck?”

Emery’s entire body shook, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His fingers clawed at the front of his shirt like he was suffocating.

“Get a medic in here! Now!” Callum barked at the nearest officer.

Emery’s face was pale, his pupils blown wide with something close to terror. He wasn’t just panicking—he was reacting to something. Something Callum couldn't see.

“Shit—breathe! Look at me!” Callum’s grip tightened around Emery’s shoulders as he lowered him to the ground. “What the hell’s happening?”

Emery gasped, his voice barely a whisper.

“…the scent.”

Callum froze. “What?”

“It’s everywhere,” Emery choked out, his fingers twitching. “So strong. Violent. Aggressive. It’s soaked into the walls, the floor… everything.”

Callum glanced around, his own senses heightened—expecting to catch whatever scent had brought Emery to his knees. But there was nothing.

The only things he could smell were blood, death, and faint traces of the usual forensic chemicals.

“What scent?” Callum demanded.

Emery’s breath hitched again. “It’s the same as before. The last victim’s place—I caught it faintly. But here…” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Here, it’s overwhelming.”

Before Callum could respond, medics rushed in, pulling Emery away.

Outside the Crime Scene

Emery sat against the ambulance, still trembling, his breathing finally slowing. The medic checked his vitals before glancing at Callum.

“He reacted as if he was exposed to a strong Alpha scent,” the medic said.

Callum’s eyes narrowed. “That’s impossible.”

The medic hesitated. “I don’t know what else to tell you. Whatever it was, it sent his body into overdrive.”

Callum turned his gaze to Emery, who was rubbing his temples, his jaw clenched in frustration. His face was still pale, but the fear was gone—replaced by something else.

Something colder.

“What the hell was that, Emery?” Callum asked, voice sharp.

Emery looked up at him. “Pheromones.”

Callum exhaled slowly. “Whose?”

Emery’s fingers twitched. “Not an Alpha’s.”

A beat of silence.

Callum’s frown deepened. “What do you mean, not an Alpha’s?”

Emery hesitated. Then, in a low, almost hesitant voice, he admitted, “I don’t think this scent belongs to any Alpha I’ve ever encountered.”

Callum’s blood ran cold. He took a step closer. “Then what the hell are we dealing with?”

Emery shook his head. “I don’t know.” His fingers curled into his palm. “But it’s watching us.”

Callum didn’t react outwardly—but something deep in his gut twisted at those words.

Watching them?

He wanted to call it paranoia. But looking at Emery’s face—at the way his body still trembled slightly, at the absolute certainty in his voice—

For the first time in years, Callum felt the sharp, creeping edge of something he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge.

Unease.