Page 179 of Psycho Pack

"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 madeof 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.

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