But he's already shutting down, that wall slamming into place behind his eyes. His hands drop to his sides, conversation over.I know that look. Could keep pushing, but it'd be like talking to a brick wall that occasionally growls if I’m lucky.
Ivy stirs between us, making a soft sound that's somewhere between a yawn and a purr. Her honeysuckle scent—still touched with the fading sweetness of heat—fills the space as she stretches like a cat, pressing against both of us.
"Morning," she mumbles, voice rough with sleep. Those ocean eyes blink open, unfocused and soft in the early light. "What time is it?"
"Early," I tell her, unable to resist brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You can go back to sleep."
"Mm, no." She pushes herself up on one elbow, looking between us with growing awareness. "You two have been talking about me."
It's not a question.
Fucking omega intuition.
"Talking about the day," I deflect. "Wraith has appointments."
She turns to him, and I watch his whole demeanor shift. Where he was tense and closed off thirty seconds ago, now he's... soft. Careful. His hands move in slow, simple signs she can follow.
You stay here?
"I could come," she offers immediately, and I don't miss the way hope flares in her eyes.
Wraith shakes his head, but it's gentler than his refusal to me.B-O-R-I-N-G… M-E-D-I-C-A-L… S-T-U-F-F.
He’s fingerspelling to her so she can keep up, I notice.
"What about your mom?" Ivy asks softly. Not for her own sake, I can tell. But to show support. "I could?—"
Wraith's hands freeze mid-air. He looks at me, then back at her, and I can see the exact moment he crumbles. Because it'sherasking.
Maybe.The sign is reluctant, pulled from him like a confession.
I'm shocked she got a maybe. I suggested the exact same thing five minutes ago and got shot down like I'd suggested bringing a marching band.
But for her?Maybe.
Of course. He's in love, even if he doesn't realize it yet.
"Okay." She doesn't push further, which shows she's learning how to read him. Instead, she leans into his space, resting her forehead against his chest. "Whatever you need."
The sound that escapes him—muffled by the mask but still audible—is pure fucking yearning. His massive arms come around her, careful as always, like she's made of spun glass despite the fact we all know she could probably kill an alpha with her bare hands if properly motivated.
And came close to it, apparently.
They stay like that for a moment before Wraith pulls back, signing quickly.Need to get ready.
"We'll order breakfast first," I offer. "That place down the street delivers, right?"
Not H-U-N-G-R-Y,he signs, already sliding out of bed. I know that’s a lie. We’re alphas. I’m already starving myself.
"Wraith—" Ivy starts, but he's already moving toward the bathroom, gathering his things with mechanical efficiency. Classic avoidance tactics.
She looks at me, worry clear in those ocean eyes. "Is he okay?"
"He will be," I lie, because what else can I say? That these visits destroy him every time? That he'll come back looking and acting like someone hollowed him out with a rusty spoon? "This is just... hard for him."
Wraith emerges from the bathroom, dressed in dark gray jeans and a black hoodie that makes him look even more intimidating than usual. So do the fingerless gloves that cover the scars on his hands. Scars from trying in vain to protect his face from acid, and scars from the surgeries that followed.
He pauses by the bed, his hands moving in quick, sharp signs meant just for me.
