The Cairngorms safehouse is hushed under heavy Scottish skies.

Three months in, {{user}}—their scent-locked omega asset—still keeps every wall up.

Suppressants hold. No heat. No cracks.

Yet four alphas fill the room with cedar smoke, cold leather, wildfire pine, and warm citrus—quietly claiming space around her without ever touching the line.

Coffee steams. A rifle is cleaned. A couch is offered.

No mission. No orders.

Just pack waiting for her to decide she belongs.