What is it that draws people to each other?
Is it nothing more than pheromones, hormones, and instinct, or is it something deeper, something transcendent that resides in the soul?
Those who believe the former see it as base, a force that reduces humans to beasts. Those who believe the latter see it as noble, worth sacrificing money, careers, and even life itself in pursuit.
Luo Hai believed neither.
There was no instinct in this world that would make someone attracted to their enemy. No soul would willingly struggle in the flames, be cut over and over again by a rusted, dull blade for more than a decade.
For Luo Hai, this was nothing but a loss of control.
In almost thirty years of life, he had always maintained strict control over himself.
What he wanted, he would obtain. What he couldn’t obtain, he would find a way to overcome. And if he couldn’t overcome it, he would endure and sacrifice until, in the end, he still came out the victor—grasping his goal with bloodstained hands, no matter the cost.
Eugene was his only exception.
Like poison, like a virus, like a line of corrupted code—no matter who he was, what side he stood on, or how meticulously he had planned, the moment Eugene got close, everything disappeared. The world turned blank, leaving only the uncontrollable impulse.
And now, the very source of his loss of control was right in front of him, those amber eyes burning like fire, setting the entire room ablaze.
Eugene pressed a hand to Lu Hai’s shoulder and kissed him.
The liquor flowed between their lips, mixing with the heavy scent of pheromones, letting the intoxication spread even further.
The soft sheets rustled beneath them as Luo Hai instinctively leaned back, and Eugene pursued, refusing to let go of his lips for even a second. It was as if he needed to confirm, with his body, the question he couldn’t bring himself to ask—pushing Luo Hai until there was nowhere left to retreat.
Then, Eugene’s hand brushed against the back of Luo Hai’s neck. The touch was barely there, but Luo Hai let out a suppressed sound of pain, his entire body trembling.
Eugene jerked back as if shocked, breaking away from his lips.
Luo Hai lay in his arms, eyes unfocused, breathing unsteady. His flushed cheeks were tinted with alcohol, his chest rising and falling, dazed—but there was no heat of desire in his gaze.
As soon as distance was created, Luo Hai’s eyes regained clarity. Reality settled back in.
Eugene didn’t move.
He didn’t say a word.
There should have been too many words left unsaid, too many unresolved questions. But no one spoke. They simply maintained a short distance, gazing into each other’s eyes, letting the silence replace the ambiguity, spreading through the narrow space.
In the end, it was Luo Hai who spoke first, his voice hoarse. “It’s late.”
The words were ambiguous—it could be a dismissal, or it could be an invitation.
But Eugene didn’t press for clarification. He simply let out a slow breath, stood up from the bed, and buttoned his shirt again. “Yeah, I should go.”
Luo Hai watched as Eugene picked up his coat, opened the window, and with agile movements, swung himself over the window frame. Like a wild animal, he landed gracefully on a tree branch.
The branch swayed slightly. Avoiding the surveillance cameras, Eugene’s figure quickly disappeared into the night.
Luo Hai stood at the window, staring at the spot where Eugene had vanished for a long time. It wasn’t until the cold wind made him shiver that he finally reached up and closed the window.
Something brushed against his elbow. He looked down.
Eugene had left the rose on the table.
……
If Luo Hai, two years later, had to pinpoint when the catastrophe began, even someone as meticulous as him wouldn’t hesitate to answer—when Director Kliman took over the Lightwing case.
More precisely, it was the day after Eugene climbed through his window in the middle of the night for a drink. That seemingly unremarkable Tuesday.
That day, Luo Hai woke up early.
Outside, the sky was hazy, the clouds pressing low. The morning sun was completely obscured, leaving the entire sky feeling stiff and suffocating.
The alcohol and snacks Eugene had brought were still scattered all over the floor, the bottle caps left open.
Normally, Luo Hai would have tidied up immediately. But for some reason, this time, he didn’t want to touch anything.
The mess still carried traces of Eugene. Looking at the scattered bottles and snack wrappers, Luo Hai could still picture him sitting cross-legged on the floor, one hand holding a glass of liquor, the other tearing open a snack bag.
Instead, Luo Hai simply washed up, put on his usual unchanged suit, and, just as he was about to leave, paused in front of the mirror.
He pulled open a small drawer beside it.
Inside were two dark blue cufflinks. He took them out and fastened them onto his shirt sleeves.
But when he arrived at the prosecutor’s office that day, Eugene was nowhere to be found.
Now that he had been removed from the Lightwing case, and Enyouge had been appointed as Kliman’s assistant, both he and Colin were now under Kliman’s jurisdiction. Meanwhile, Luo Hai’s responsibilities had shifted from handling cases and appearing in court to managing the administrative affairs of prison inmates.
He had rarely visited the prison before.
Even though it was located close to the prosecutor’s office—so close that, during late-night overtime, the distant wails could sometimes be heard—he had never voluntarily stepped inside.
Not once.
It wasn’t out of arrogance as a prosecutor. Rather, the prison was like a massive pheromone bomb. Countless prisoners, their unwashed bodies reeking from weeks without a proper bath, were crammed together. Even if the scent didn’t trigger his secondary gender response, it was enough to cause him unbearable discomfort.
As for the Omega prison, Alphas were generally not allowed entry, to prevent incidents of forced marking or other risks.
He had never intended to visit.
Most of the inmates there were people he had personally sent in. No one would want to see the man who put them behind bars. Luo Hai had no desire to face their resentment either.
But now, he had no choice.
The Omega prison was located deeper inside the facility. Luo Hai descended three dimly lit flights of stairs before reaching the main entrance.
He had already seen the brutal conditions of the Alpha prison. Even so, the sight before him still left him stunned.
He had thought that the high-security cells, where prisoners were locked in solitary confinement behind iron bars and rough bricks, forced to sleep on cold concrete with only a layer of straw, with nothing but a toilet for furniture—he had thought that was the worst South Nantes had to offer.
He never imagined that, in this day and age, there would still be prisons where more than a dozen people, regardless of age or gender, were crammed together.
Each cell resembled a shipping container.
The floor was coated with grime and human waste. There was no straw, no blankets. The buckets for food and the buckets for waste were mixed together, indistinguishable from each other, and no one ever cleaned up.
The entire prison reeked—a suffocating stench of filth and unwashed bodies, mingling with the overwhelming scent of Omega pheromones.
As soon as Luo Hai stepped inside, a wave of nausea hit him.
The faint trace of Alpha pheromones on him instantly caught the attention of the surrounding Omegas.
Most of them were barely clothed, crouched on the filthy concrete floor. Their heads turned in unison, their hollow eyes locking onto him.
Their gazes held no trace of soul—only an eerie emptiness, like parasitic shells, driven solely by instinct.
Under the dim lighting, the sight was chilling.
“Prosecutor Luo Hai!”
A crisp voice pulled Luo Hai back to reality. He turned to see a short boy hurrying toward him.
The boy had short hair and was dressed in clean cotton clothes. Though he was young enough to still be in school, his face carried a premature maturity—a survival instinct sharpened by society.
His features weren’t particularly striking, but compared to the filthy, battered prisoners around him, his tidy appearance and lightly powdered face made him stand out.
“You must be Prosecutor Luo Hai?” the boy said eagerly, keeping his posture slightly bowed as he looked up at him. “I’m Xiao Tao, the warden of the Omega prison. If you need anything, just ask me.”
“You’re Xiao Tao?” Luo Hai was surprised.
“You’ve heard of me?” Xiao Tao’s face lit up with excitement, his smile as bright as if he had won the lottery. A faint blush spread across his cheeks.
“Yes! This year, I was named one of the Top Ten Omegas in South Nantes. It’s such an honor—”
Luo Hai frowned.
Something about Xiao Tao’s tone, his attitude, his mannerisms—it all made Luo Hai feel an instinctive sense of repulsion.
Xiao Tao had sharp observational skills. Although he didn’t understand why, he quickly sensed the awkward atmosphere and immediately changed the subject, saying, “You’re here to verify the list, right? The office area is this way.”
As he spoke, Xiao Tao hunched his body and led the way ahead, continuing, “Walk along this path, and be careful not to let their filthy hands touch your shoes.”
The entire prison had a stifling atmosphere. Along the way, all the Omegas followed Luo Hai with soulless, empty eyes. Some were even bold enough to reach out through the iron bars, their gazes filled with either hatred or longing, trying to grab Luo Hai’s ankle.
Xiao Tao viciously stomped on one of the hands, causing its owner to let out a pained cry and retract it. The other hands also slowly withdrew.
“Shameless things,” Xiao Tao spat toward the other side of the bars, “a bunch of whores.”
After saying this, he quickly returned to the path and beamed at Luo Hai. “I hope that didn’t scare you? So sorry about that.”
Luo Hai felt as if something heavy was stuck in his throat, making him suffocate and nauseous.
“This place never gets Alpha visitors. These cheap bastards haven’t smelled Alpha pheromones in centuries,” Xiao Tao explained with a sycophantic smile. “Just get through this section, and the office area is right ahead.”
Luo Hai didn’t respond, only furrowing his brows even deeper. He quickened his pace, wanting to get this over with and leave this place as soon as possible.
But sometimes, one’s conscience doesn’t disappear just because they try to avoid it. It always resurfaces at the most unguarded moments, delivering a sudden, painful sting to remind them of its existence.
Luo Hai heard a woman crying.
