Rumi's POV

Ezra was still in his arms, unconscious and burning up. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, skin slick with pool water and fevered heat.

Rumi knelt beside him on the cold tile floor, the talisman around his neck searing against his sternum like a brand. It flickered between blazing hot and ice cold, as if it couldn't decide whether to protect him or punish him.

"Come on, come on," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Ezra, breathe for me—"

A low growl rumbled in his throat, feral and completely involuntary. His wolf was pacing beneath his skin, agitated and demanding. This wasn't just a simple collapse. It was a bond trigger—the shattering of walls that were never supposed to break.

Ezra stirred, his lips parting slightly.

"…Rumi?"

Relief hit Rumi so hard he nearly dropped him.

But when Ezra opened his eyes, they were glowing. A sharp, unearthly silver—not like moonlight, but like frosted fire. And in that moment, Rumi saw not just a boy, but something far more powerful. A bloodline.

"You're not just omega," Rumi whispered, stunned.

Ezra blinked slowly, confusion clouding his features. "What… what happened to me?"

"You connected to me," Rumi said, his voice hoarse. "Too fast. Too deep. Your body couldn't handle it."

Ezra sat up shakily, his soaked shirt clinging to every line of muscle. "You kissed me."

"You let me," Rumi snapped back.

They stared at each other, their breathing still tangled, water dripping steadily from their bodies onto the floor.

Then Ezra did the worst thing possible. He smiled—soft, tilted, dangerous.

"So do it again."

Rumi was across the room in two strides, putting distance between them like it would somehow save him. He yanked a towel off the bench and shoved it into Ezra's lap. "Get dressed. You need to cool down."

"You're the one who's overheating," Ezra muttered, standing slowly. His back muscles shifted under the pale moonlight streaming through the windows, the curve of his spine taut with barely contained energy.

Rumi turned away. He couldn't look. Couldn't let himself want what he couldn't have.

He didn't have the right.

Cassian saw them.

From the shadows of the hallway, unseen and unnoticed.

He'd followed Ezra out of curiosity. Maybe jealousy. Definitely possessiveness.

But what he witnessed was something else entirely.

Ezra glowing like he'd been lit from within. Rumi holding him like he was precious, fragile. The look that passed between them—it wasn't just about sex or attraction. It was something deeper. Older.

Cassian's stomach twisted with something ugly.

So that was how this was going to play out? Ezra wasn't just pretty—he was dangerous. A threat to everything Cassian had worked for.

Fine.

Let the games begin.

Later that night…

Ezra stood in the dorm bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

His skin was still flushed, pupils dilated. The echo of what had happened at the pool still shimmered under his skin like electricity.

But that wasn't what made his blood run cold.

It was the mark on his neck.

Not a bruise. Not a bite. But a faint symbol—etched in shimmering silver just beneath the skin. Circular and ancient, like something from a forgotten language.

He reached for it with trembling fingers, barely daring to touch.

"What the hell are you, Rumi?" he whispered to his reflection.

And more importantly—

"What the hell am I?"

The mark pulsed once, as if responding to his voice, and Ezra jerked his hand back.

Whatever was happening to him, whatever he was becoming, there was no going back now.

He thought of Rumi's golden eyes, the way they'd looked at him like he was a puzzle to be solved. The way his touch had felt like coming home and falling apart all at once.

Tomorrow, he'd demand answers.

Tonight, he'd try to forget the way his body still ached for more.