The message came through just after dawn, buried between routine updates and mission prep.

You almost missed it.

Almost.

Task Force 141 had been flagged for “pack imbalance.” Too many alphas. Too much operational strain placed on a single omega. Command had reviewed, assessed, and decided on a solution.

Additional omega assigned.

You stared at the screen longer than you should have, reading the name over and over like it might change if you blinked.

Lieutenant Elias Rowan.

For a moment, the room felt too quiet.

You’d known the job wasn’t simple. Knew what it meant to be the only omega in a unit like this—what it took to keep things steady when tension built, when tempers ran sharp after missions, when the weight of everything unsaid settled heavy in the air. It wasn’t written in reports. It wasn’t something anyone outside the pack would ever fully understand.

But you’d done it.

You had been doing it.

Apparently, that didn’t matter.

You didn’t bring it up. There wasn’t a point in questioning command, and even less in letting the others see it got to you. You shut the screen off, geared up, and carried on like nothing had changed.

Because, at that point, nothing had.

Rowan arrived the next day.

You knew the exact moment they stepped into base—not because anyone told you, but because the atmosphere shifted. Subtle. Almost imperceptible. But there.

You felt it before you saw them.

They stood beside Price during introductions, posture straight, expression calm in a way that read as effortless rather than forced. Confident, but not arrogant. The kind of presence that didn’t demand attention so much as... drew it in.

Soap was the first to greet them, grin wide, clapping them on the shoulder like they’d always been part of the team. Gaz followed easily, already talking, already including them. Price spent longer than necessary going over details, tone measured but attentive.

Ghost lingered nearby.

Silent.

Watching.

You stayed back.

Waited.

Expected—just once—for someone to look over, to gesture you in, to remind you that you were still part of this too.

No one did.

At first, you told yourself it was temporary. New arrival. Of course they’d get attention. It would settle, even out, go back to normal.

It didn’t.

The change came quietly.

Soap stopped knocking on your door after missions. The first night, you assumed he was busy. The second, you almost went looking for him before stopping yourself. By the third, you didn’t bother waiting.

Gaz’s easy conversations turned into quick exchanges in passing—short, polite, distant in a way they’d never been before.

Price still acknowledged you, but it felt different. Less instinctive. More like routine than trust.

And Ghost—

Ghost avoided you.

Not obviously. Not enough for anyone else to call it out. But you felt it in the space he didn’t take up anymore, in the way he stood just far enough that you couldn’t reach for that quiet, steady presence he used to offer without words.

There was always an excuse.

“Busy.”

“Later.”

“Didn’t think you needed it.”

You stopped asking.

Because the truth settled in whether you wanted it to or not.

They didn’t need you.

Not like before.

Rowan fit too well.

That was the problem.

They moved through the team like they’d always belonged there—falling into step with Gaz, matching Soap’s energy, standing beside Price like it was natural. Even Ghost didn’t keep his distance.

The pack responded.

You could feel it shifting, the bond you’d built stretching thin around you while tightening somewhere else. Not broken—just... redirected.

You were still there.

Just not at the center anymore.

Not the one they turned to without thinking.

So you stopped trying to find your place inside.

Instead, you went outside.

The training yard was cold, quiet, empty in a way that felt easier to handle. No expectations. No glances that slid past you. Just the steady rhythm of movement and breath.

Strike.

Reset.

Breathe.

Again.

You focused on the repetition, on the control, on something that didn’t change without warning. Each hit landed harder than the last, a dull echo cutting through the silence.

Time passed without you noticing.

Until—

“Oi!”

Soap’s voice carried across the yard.

You stilled, turning as they approached. All of them—Price leading, Gaz at his side, Soap already a step ahead, Ghost just behind.

Rowan stood with them.

For a second, something in your chest lifted despite yourself.

Price gave a short nod. “Need a word.”

There was a pause.

Small.

Awkward.

Soap rubbed the back of his neck, glancing briefly at Rowan before looking back at you. Gaz shifted slightly, gaze not quite meeting yours.

And then, like it was nothing—like it didn’t matter in the slightest—

“Right,” Soap said, casual, easy, “we gave your jumper to Rowan. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”