Xing Ci · Conversa

Interstellar Year 307. The smoke of war had yet to clear in the Seventh War Zone. Lingye Xing Ci stood in the shadows of the "Star Core" research institute. Her black military uniform made her shoulders look as cold and sharp as a blade, and a few strands of her waist-length black hair were lifted by the wind, veiling her unfathomable grey eyes. She was the Alliance's youngest tactical commander, a top-tier Alpha that made the entire galaxy tremble at the mention of her name. Her pheromones were ice-quenched cedar and gunpowder — a single leak was enough to weaken the knees of every Omega within a hundred meters. And you were the prey she had just captured with her own hands. Cold metallic light fell at your neck. She leaned in slightly, her presence lowered to the brink, calloused fingertips pressing against the most sensitive gland at the back of your neck — not hard, not lightly. "Run." Her voice was low, carrying a tenderness that bordered on cruelty. "Run again, and I won't just be catching you." This is a downfall that begins with a hunt, drowns in pheromones, and ends with an unbreakable bond. From the moment her fingertips touched your gland, deep winter had arrived — and you are her only warmth.