Chapter 30: Ivy

Chapter

Thirty

IVY

T hrough the window, Surhiira's gleaming spires fade into the distance, replaced by the stark wasteland of the Outer Reaches. My hand traces idle patterns on the cool glass of the train window as I think back to the past few days.

I never expected to fall in love with a place. But Surhiira, with its white stone buildings and golden accents, carved out a space in my heart. The way sunlight danced off the geometric patterns adorning every surface. The quiet dignity of its people in their white clothes and veiled faces. Even the strict social rules felt comforting in their predictability.

It's hard to believe we were only there for a few days. It feels like our time in Surhiira was simultaneously so much shorter and so much longer. Maybe it's because it's so isolated from the rest of the world, it feels like it's in its own parallel universe, separated from my own perception of time.

Plague sits beside me, reading a leather-bound book. He's traded his usual dramatic outfits for the simple yet sharp black suit with gold accents he selected during our shopping trip to the market in Surhiira. His dark hair is tied back at the nape of his neck, a few long strands falling forward over his angular face as he pores over his book.

I told him not long before we left that I could imagine staying in Surhiira. Maybe not in the city itself—I'm not sure my wildness could handle the walls surrounding us, at least not for long—but close. There's a lakeside villa that caught my eye last night while I was looking out at the sunset with the pack one last time, and I hinted something like that would be perfect.

Safe, yet protected.

If he even wants to come back here, of course. I know that would be a major decision for him, and right now, we're all in survival mode.

I watch Thane and Valek play cards at a small table across from me, both of them looking far more refined than I'm used to seeing them. Thane cuts an imposing figure in his deep charcoal suit, a stark contrast to Valek's extravagant white ensemble with silver accents that match his eyes.

Wraith dozes in the corner, his massive frame filling out his black suit and crisp white undershirt. An inky silk scarf covers the lower half of his face, the fabric shifting slightly with each steady breath. But even half-asleep, he looks ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Whiskey sprawls in an armchair near them, his legs stretched out in front of him. The dark navy blue of his suit brings out the warmth in his chestnut hair and honey-brown eyes. He keeps tugging at his collar, though, like the fabric is bugging him.

I get it. I'm not used to my midnight blue gown, either. It's soft and silky, but it feels foreign against my skin.

But all this work makes them look the part of a pack of wealthy, powerful alphas with an omega binding them together. No one would guess they're trained killers.

The illusion is perfect.

Almost too perfect.

I catch Valek palming cards when he thinks no one is looking, and I have to bite back a smile. Some things never change, no matter how fancy the packaging.

I lean my forehead against the cool glass, watching the barren landscape blur past. Part of me already misses the gleaming spires and impossibly delicate architecture of Surhiira. The pristine white stone and intricate gold filigree feel like a dream now, fading with each mile we put between us and that impossible oasis.

But another part of me feels more alive than I have in years. We're hurtling toward danger, getting closer to the very heart of the corruption that's poisoned our world. And for the first time, I feel like we might actually have a chance at changing things.

We're wolves in sheep's clothing.

And we're about to walk straight into the lion's den.

"You're thinking too hard again," Whiskey's gruff voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. I blink, realizing I've been staring blankly out the window for who knows how long.

"Just... nervous," I admit, forcing a weak smile.

Whiskey's eyes soften. "Hey, we've got your back. Ain't nobody gonna touch you in there."

"It's not me I'm worried about," I mutter.

"We can handle ourselves," Thane rumbles from across the compartment. "Just focus on playing your part. As long as we seem normal, we'll be able to move freely."

"And we don't seem normal easily," Valek reminds me, his lips curving.

I nod, swallowing hard. Right. I just have to pretend to be a pampered, high-class omega.

Easy.

Totally natural for a feral omega who grew up in the wilderness.

"You'll do fine," Plague says softly, as if he can read my mind. He reaches over to squeeze my hand. He's wearing gloves today, but they're cotton and white, not the usual black leather. "Just relax."

I nod at Plague's reassurance, but anxiety still churns in my stomach. The gentle sway of the train does little to soothe my nerves as we hurtle closer to our destination. Every movement reminds me of what we're about to do.

Outside the window, the barren landscape of the Outer Reaches gives way to the bombed-out ruins of what was once a thriving city. Crumbling buildings and twisted metal loom against the darkening sky, a stark reminder of the world we're fighting to fix.

"You got this, wildcat," Whiskey says, nudging my shoulder. "Just remember, you're supposed to be a spoiled little princess. Act like you own the place."

I snort. "Right. Because I have so much experience with that."

"Just channel your inner Valek," he says with a wink. "Nobody does entitled asshole better than him."

"I resent that," Valek drawls from across the compartment. "I prefer the term 'discerning connoisseur.'"

"Remember," Thane says, pulling a sleek black suitcase from the overhead compartment. "We wait to put on our masks until we reach the Alpha's Alpha. Until then, we're just travelers passing through."

"Just travelers who happen to be wearing fancy clothes worth more than most people make in a year," Whiskey mutters.

"From what I've gathered, this club is not frequented by the destitute," Plague replies dryly. "As long as we blend in with the other wealthy monsters that spend their time in places like this, we will be just fine."

Valek languidly stretches his long arms and legs. "I do have a question."

Thane shoots him a hard look. "You're lucky you're not rotting in a pit right now, so it'd better not be a bitchy one."

Valek rolls his eyes. "Always so dramatic," he says with a disappointed sigh. "I was merely wondering how exactly we're planning to get past security with our... particular talents. Even if we look the part, they'll be screening for weapons. And some of us," he glances pointedly at Wraith, "aren't exactly built for subtlety."

Wraith's shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh, but he doesn't argue.

Thane's jaw tightens, but I can tell the question isn't entirely unwelcome. "That's actually why we're taking the train instead of trying to sneak in through the tunnels. The Alpha's Alpha attracts wealthy guests from all over. Their security will be focused on keeping out the riffraff, not the well-dressed."

"And we won't look like riffraff in these outfits," Whiskey adds with a grin.

"Precisely," Thane continues. "The masks help too. Nobody questions why someone might want to hide their identity at a masquerade. It's expected. Even encouraged."

I watch as he pulls out a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and spreads it on the small table. It's a detailed floor plan of what must be the club where this gathering is being held.

"The real security will be inside," he explains, his finger tracing various points on the map. "But they'll be looking for obvious threats. Street rats, resistance fighters, that sort of thing. Not wealthy alphas and their pampered omega."

"And what about weapons?" Whiskey asks, looming over the map. "Hate to say it, but Valek is right about that."

"That won't be a problem," Plague says, setting his book aside. "The weapons we have now, thanks to Surhiira, are made of materials that won't trigger standard scanners. Glass blades, carbon fiber garrotes, that sort of thing."

"Fancy," Whiskey whistles. "You bastards don't mess around."

"No," Plague agrees quietly. "We don't."

I lean in closer to study the map, trying to memorize every detail. The club is massive, spanning several floors both above and below ground. Multiple entry points, emergency exits, private rooms... it's a maze of potential dangers and escape routes.

"Once we're inside," Thane continues, "we stick to our roles. Ivy, you'll be the center of attention whether we like it or not. Stick close."

"I don't mind being a distraction," I say with a shrug.

"Like moths to a flame," Valek purrs. "Though in this case, the flame might burn them first."

I shoot him a look, but he's not wrong. The thought of using their own prejudices against them—their assumption that an omega is just a pretty decoration—has a certain poetic justice to it.

"Don't these alphas prefer other alphas, though?" I ask.

"Not exactly," Thane replies dryly. "It's usually a humiliation kink for them, not a genuine attraction. Plenty of them enjoy being dominated by omegas, too."

He glances in Whiskey and Plague's general direction and Whiskey's eyebrows shoot up. "There a reason you're lookin' at me, bro?"

Thane blinks hard. "What? No?—"

But before he can say anything else, Valek laughs darkly. "So don't look at them like you're going to kill them, little omega. Not unless you want them to follow you around the club like a pack of hungry, lost puppies."

The idea makes me grimace in disgust. "What about communication?" I ask hoarsely, hoping to change the subject.

"Hand signals," Thane replies. "Like we practiced. And Wraith's already fluent in them." He pauses, his dark eyes meeting mine. "If anything goes wrong—anything at all—you give the signal and we abort. No hesitation."

I nod, though we all know I won't. Not when we're this close to exposing the corruption at the heart of everything.

"And what exactly constitutes 'wrong' in this scenario?" Valek asks, examining his nails with feigned disinterest. "Because I have a feeling our definitions might differ slightly."

"If anyone touches Ivy, they die," Whiskey says flatly.

"If anyone even looks at her wrong, they die," Plague adds.

"If anyone breathes in her direction—" Whiskey starts again.

"We get it," Thane interrupts, though I catch the ghost of a smile on his lips. "But try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum until we have what we need. The goal is to snatch the Council bastard for leverage, not start a war. At least, not yet."

The 'yet' hangs in the air between us.

I glance out the window again as the train begins to slow. The ruins have given way to rebuilt sections of a compact city in the middle of nowhere. Gaudy and ostentatious compared to Surhiira's elegant beauty, but impressive in their own way. Neon signs pierce the dark, advertising pleasures and vices of all kinds.

We're getting close now.

Close to the belly of the beast.

And somehow, we have to slay it from the inside out.

"Are we ready?" Thane asks us all.

"Oh, we're ready," Whiskey says with a dangerous grin. "Question is, are they ready for us?"

Looking around at my pack, I can't help but smile.

No.

I don't think they're ready for us at all.