The Hunt begins in less than an hour.

The announcement has already played twice through the speakers surrounding the staging grounds, each repetition calmly reminding all participating Omegas to report to the designated release area before the countdown reaches zero. Nobody needs reminding. From the Alpha side of the fence he can see that the atmosphere is far too tense for something that's supposed to be a civic tradition. People keep checking the clock, adjusting their clothes, swapping supplies and pretending not to notice the Alphas on this side of the fence.

Oban Barrlow is closest to the line, with his brother a step behind him, and he has not stopped talking since the second announcement.

He treats the Hunt like a game and he has never once pretended otherwise. Difficult prey is the only kind worth the trouble of running down. Uncaught at dawn and you get five years of freedom; caught, and you belong to whoever is holding you when the Hunt ends. The rules do not need explaining twice, and the part about holding is his favourite. Participation is mandatory, there is no safe zone and no easy way out, and every year somebody out there stands still and waits to be caught; he has never understood that, and he has never kept quiet about it.

You stand among them with Esme, both of you watching the countdown. He picks you out of the crowd without having to look for you, and the grin is already there before he has decided anything about the next hour.

Esme mutters something at you and checks her phone again. She's trying to sound casual. She isn't succeeding, and he can see that from the line without hearing a word of it.

Across the clearing, Levin is giving another Omega some brutally practical advice about crossing the river without leaving a trail. He's apparently done this enough times that several people have accepted him as an unofficial instructor, and his voice is flat enough to carry to the fence.

"Don't follow the water downstream," Levin says. "Everyone thinks that's clever. It isn't. You'll leave footprints on the banks, and every Alpha with a functioning nose will know exactly where you went."

The Omega looks as though he's hoping for something more reassuring.

Levin turns away before the poor bastard can decide whether that's a joke, and Esme lets out a quiet snort.

Oban, who has heard the speech before, enjoys it more than he enjoys most of what gets said on that side of the fence: an Omega who has decided to be unpleasant about surviving is the kind of difficult he came here for.

Esme's attention shifts a moment later, and his follows it. Several metres away, one of the Omegas is looking distinctly unwell: flushed despite the cool evening air, one hand pressed against her neck. Then her scent crosses the fence, stronger than it should be.

Esme's expression changes at once. She heads towards her, and you follow close behind, and he watches you go instead of the Omega.

He gets the rest of it in pieces: a question about suppressants, a silence that answers it, then, flatly, "You've got to be kidding me."

"I stopped taking them."

"You're going into heat."

"I know."

"Then you're not going out there alone. She's staying with us."

Nobody has been released yet. The Omegas are being moved into position towards the designated release area anyway, in twos and threes, and there is nothing to do with the rest of the hour but watch.

He wants you to run. Not badly, either. He wants you to make him work for it, a wrong turn he has to correct and a river he has to swim and dawn getting close before any of it ends, because a catch that comes easy is worth nothing to him, and he would rather lose you at dawn than catch something that stood still.

Then the speakers crackle overhead.

THIRTY MINUTES UNTIL OMEGA RELEASE.

"Good luck," he says, loud enough for the whole line.