Chapter 201: The Docks

​By 7:30 PM, the facility had cleared out, and we were back to the quiet penthouse, dressing for the night.

​"I’m driving you," Reid said, pulling a dark, heavy jacket over his broad shoulders as I zipped up my hoodie. It wasn’t a question or an order; it was just a quiet, unshakeable fact.

​"The docks aren’t the best neighborhood, Reid," I murmured, checking my phone to confirm Marina’s location text. "And if anyone sees us together out there—"

​"I’ll be sitting in the car with the engine running," Reid interrupted smoothly, stepping up to me and reaching out to adjust the collar of my jacket, his thumb brushing warm against my throat. "You go inside, talk to your sister, and get the answers we need. I’ll be right outside keeping watch. No arguments, Cap."

​I looked into his steady, uncompromising gaze and found myself letting out a soft, breathless laugh. "Fine. No arguments."

​The diner near the old shipping docks was a rusted, fluorescent-lit relic from the seventy-second street pier, tucked away in an alleyway choked with salt air and foggy sea mist. The neon sign buzzed with a low, dying hum.

​Reid pulled the truck into a shadowed space across the street, keeping the headlights off. Before I could reach for the door handle, his large hand caught mine, squeezing my fingers with a warm, grounding pressure.

​"Take all the time you need," Reid whispered, his grey eyes locked on mine in the dim dashboard light. "I’m right here."

​"I know," I replied, squeezing his hand back before slipping out into the chilly night air.

​The diner was practically empty, save for a tired cook wiping down the grill and a lone trucker sleeping in a corner booth.

Marina was sitting in the very last booth against the wall, an untouched mug of black coffee sitting in front of her. She looked exhausted—dark circles bruised the skin beneath her sharp eyes, and her leather jacket smelled faintly of wet sea salt and diesel fuel.

​The moment I slid into the vinyl seat across from her, her posture went rigid, her fierce, protective elder sister instincts locking straight onto my face.

​"You look pale, Kain," Marina said, her voice dropping into a tight, quiet murmur as she leaned across the laminate table. "You’re pushing your body way too hard on that ice."

​"I’m fine, Marina," I rasped, keeping my voice low. "Game 1 is over, and we’ve got a two-day break before Game 2. My body is holding up."

​"For now," she countered, her sharp gaze softening with a heavy wave of familial grief. She reached across the table, her gloved fingers lightly catching my wrist. "I hated missing the game, Kain. Truly. But watching you take those hits when I know what’s happening to you... It’s killing me."

​"I know," I whispered, swallowing hard against the tight knot in my throat. "And I’m sorry for putting you through this. But that’s why I’m here tonight."

​Marina paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Your message earlier. You said Reid suggested something about a cover story?"

​"Yeah," I nodded, leaning in closer so my words wouldn’t carry. "Reid brought up the idea of using a medical precedent—a cover story where we claim my Omega system was triggered as a secondary presentation after being exposed to his Alpha rut. A biological anomaly caused by extreme territorial pheromones."

​Marina sat back slowly, her sharp mind immediately analyzing the angles. For years, she had navigated the gray market, pulled classified files, and faked medical registries to keep me safe. I could practically see the gears turning behind her eyes as she weighed the sheer audacity of the plan.

​"A rut-induced secondary manifestation," Marina murmured, her fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern against her coffee mug. "It’s... exceedingly rare. In official League medical journals, it’s treated as a theoretical myth. But in the private, unredacted research archives in the underworld—the ones the League suppresses to keep sub-gender dynamics simple—there are documented cases."

​My heart gave a sudden, hard thud against my ribs. "Wait... so it’s actually possible? There’s real data?"

​"It’s dirty, and it’s chaotic, but yes," Marina rasped, her eyes burning with a cold, calculating light. "If an unbonded Beta system is subjected to a dominant Alpha’s extreme, concentrated rut heat over an extended period, the forced hormonal shock can overwrite the baseline, forcing a late-blooming Omega presentation. It’s treated as a severe biological trauma, not a pre-existing condition."

​She leaned forward again, her expression deadly serious.

​"If the League ever catches wind of your Omega status or your pregnancy after the Finals, we won’t have to present you as someone who lied for ten years playing the sport," Marina whispered. "We can present you as a victim of a tragic, uncontrollable medical anomaly caused by your line-mate’s rut. Reid takes the public scrutiny for his wild biology, you keep your entire ten-year career legacy intact, and the League can’t strip a single title from your name."

​I sat there in the quiet booth, the sheer weight of her words sinking in. Reid’s reckless, desperate idea wasn’t just a fever dream—it was a bulletproof escape route.

​"Can you pull the research logs?" I asked, my voice barely louder than a breath. "The actual medical files from those private servers?"

​"I already started digging the moment you called me," Marina said, reaching into her pocket and sliding a small, encrypted black flash drive across the table toward me. "Everything is on here. Precedents, biological markers, and synthetic medical charts I can backdate to fit your timeline if the worst happens."

​I stared down at the tiny plastic drive resting on the table, feeling a strange, overwhelming mix of dread and profound relief wash over me.

​"Thank you, Marina," I whispered, wrapping my fingers around the drive and pulling it into my pocket.

​"Don’t thank me yet," Marina said softly, her sharp eyes searching my face with unyielding affection. "Just win your Cup, get off that ice, and bring my niece or nephew into this world safely. That’s all I care about."

​A small, genuine smile finally touched my lips. "Deal."