Sometimes, I think the universe has a personal vendetta against me. Not the kind of casual dislike you'd feel toward a neighbor who plays loud music at midnight. No, this is a full-blown grudge, like I've personally offended it in some past life.

Take tonight, for example. All I wanted was to sleep. A few hours of unconscious bliss to shut my brain up and forget the trash fire of a day I'd just had. But no, my mind had other plans.

"Let's stay up and obsess over everything that went wrong today!" it said. "Why not replay the slap in slow motion for the hundredth time?"

I groaned, rolling onto my side. Sleep wasn't happening, not like this. What I needed was a distraction. Something to soothe the boiling rage in my chest. And there was one thing that always worked: tea.

I shuffled into the kitchen, dragging my blanket like a cape and glaring at the cabinets. If I squinted hard enough, maybe a box of tea would appear out of thin air. Spoiler: it didn't. The cabinet door creaked as I opened it, revealing a whole lot of nothing. I sighed, leaning against the counter. My humble one-room lair wasn't exactly stocked like a five-star hotel, but I could've sworn I had at least one box of tea left. Apparently not.

"Great," I muttered, slamming the cabinet shut. "Of course, I'm out. Why wouldn't I be?"

I glanced at the clock. It wasn't too late—just dark enough to make going outside mildly inconvenient. But what choice did I have? Tea was non-negotiable. "Fine," I said, grabbing my wallet and stuffing it into my pocket. "I'll go get some. Happy now, universe?"

The streets were unusually quiet as I stepped outside. Not in the comforting, peaceful way. No, this was the eerie, spine-tingling kind of quiet that made you glance over your shoulder every few seconds. I tugged my hood up, trying to ignore the chill crawling up my spine. Normally, this is where I'd crack a joke to lighten the mood, but tonight I wasn't feeling it. The corner store wasn't far, but every step felt heavier than the last. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was that nagging itch in the back of my mind. Like I'd forgotten something important. Or someone was watching.

I shook the thought off. Paranoia wasn't going to help.

Here's the thing about being an omega: people expect you to have a certain vibe. Sweet, soft, exuding pheromones that make alphas go wild. But me? I'm the defective model. My pheromones are so weak they're practically nonexistent. No one notices me unless I'm right in their face, and even then, it's usually because I'm being annoying. And smelling other people? Forget it. My nose might as well be decorative.

Honestly, it's a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it keeps me off most alphas' radar, which is great for staying under the proverbial radar as an assassin. On the other hand... well, let's just say the whole "soulmate" thing isn't exactly in the cards for me. Not that I care. Really.

The corner store was as boring as always. Bright fluorescent lights, a half-asleep cashier, and aisles stocked with the bare essentials. I headed straight for the tea section, scanning the shelves for my usual brand. And that's when I felt it. Not a scent—obviously—but a shift. The air around me seemed heavier, more charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. My skin prickled, and my instincts screamed at me to pay attention.

I froze, glancing around. The aisle was empty, just me and rows of neatly stacked boxes.

"Relax," I muttered under my breath, grabbing a box of tea and heading for the counter. "You're just tired."

The cashier barely acknowledged me as I paid, which suited me just fine. The quicker I got out of there, the better.

The walk home was uneventful. No strange shadows, no lurking figures. Just me and my overactive imagination. But I couldn't shake the unease. Something about that store—or maybe the night in general—had my nerves on edge. It was stupid, I knew that, but it didn't stop my mind from racing.

I thought about the mission, about the client, about the slap I'd taken without flinching. And then my thoughts spiraled, as they always did, into a dark corner of "what ifs." What if I couldn't finish the job? What if the client decided I wasn't worth the hassle? What if—

I shook my head, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. "Nope. Not doing this."

Out loud pep talks weren't exactly dignified, but they worked. Most of the time.

By the time I got home, I was thoroughly done with the day. I locked the door behind me, tossed the tea onto the counter, and flopped onto the bed, still in my jacket. The plan was simple: make tea, drink tea, figure out the rest of my life. Easy, right?

I groaned, rolling onto my side. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe I'd wake up with a brilliant idea, the kind that solved all my problems in one fell swoop. Or maybe the universe would throw another curveball at me.

Either way, I'd deal with it. I always did