Dylan's voice goes rough. "The time you had a concussion and couldn't remember how you got it. The burn marks on your wrists. The fractured rib you said was from a fall. The—" He cuts himself off. "We'll go over it tomorrow. All of it. Me, Maddox, the Alphas if you want them there. We'll walk through everything and then you can sign if you still want to."
"If I still want to?" Her voice goes sharp with something that might be anger, color flooding back into her cheeks. "Of course I want to. I need that restraining order, Dylan. I need him to stay away from me."
"I know. But I need you to be prepared that some of it is going to be hard to hear. Some of it you might not remember clearly because of how your brain processed the trauma. And seeing it all laid out in legal language, in black and white, can be... it can be a lot."
Amelia's hands are shaking so badly now that her phone rattles. I move closer, ready to catch her if she collapses, but she stays standing through sheer force of will.
"Tomorrow," she agrees, her voice barely above a whisper. "We'll do it tomorrow. All of us."
"I'm sorry," Dylan says, and he sounds wrecked. "I'm sorry you have to go through this. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you better when it was happening."
"It's not your fault." Her voice comes out strained. "It was never your fault."
"I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I'll bring Riley and Isaac's things over too. They're going to stay with me and Maddox for the week, give you space for your heat. You're safe tonight. You're with your Alphas. Let them take care of you."
"Okay." The word feels hollow.
She hangs up without saying goodbye properly, staring at the phone like it might bite her. The silence in the kitchen is heavy,all of us processing what just happened. I can see her spiraling, see the panic starting to build behind her eyes.
"Hey,” I say, catching her attention. “Breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe."
"Hospital records," she whispers, her eyes unfocused. "Concussion. Fractured rib. I don't... I don't remember all of it. How can I not remember?"
"Your brain protected you," Hunter says, his voice gentle despite the fury still simmering underneath. He crosses to stand beside me, both of us creating a wall of support without crowding her. "It's a survival mechanism. You don't have to remember everything to know it was real."
"Tomorrow," she says again, like she's trying to convince herself. "I'll deal with it tomorrow."
Then her eyes land on the shopping bags Hunter brought in, and some of the tension in her shoulders eases. The distraction is welcome, needed, and I see Hunter register that too.
"Did you buy the whole store?" she asks, her attempt at lightness not quite masking the distress in her voice. But she's trying, and that's what matters. "I have a nest at Dylan's place. I don't need..."
"We were hoping you'd make one here too," I say gently, moving closer but still not touching. Not yet. "A permanent one. Your nest at Dylan's is fine for visits, but if you're going to be here, if you're going to be part of this pack, you need a space that's truly yours."
Her eyes fill with tears, the emotional whiplash of the conversation about Vincent followed by this gesture clearly overwhelming her. "Where? There's no room. You guys all have your own spaces and I can't just take over somewhere. I know I’ve been sleeping in the guest room sometimes but…"
"Anywhere," Wyatt says, appearing in the kitchen doorway. He must have heard us talking and come to investigate, leavingthe kids absorbed in their movie upstairs. He moves to stand behind Amelia, his arm wrapping protectively around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. "You can nest anywhere in this house that feels right to you. We'll make it work."
Amelia looks around like she's trying to picture it, trying to figure out where she'd fit in this house that's already full of memories and established routines. She grabs a couple of the pillows from Hunter's bags, holding them against her chest like she needs something to ground her.
"Anywhere?" she asks, her voice small and uncertain.
We all nod, and I can see the exact moment something shifts in her. Some decision being made, some certainty clicking into place. She starts walking, moving through the kitchen and into the living room, past the study, down the hallway. We follow at a distance, letting her explore, letting her feel out the space.
She pauses outside Wyatt's room, considering it for a moment before shaking her head. Then mine, where the door is open, showing the bed we shared last night. But she moves past that too, continuing down the hall until she reaches the door at the very end.
Hunter's room.
She stops in the doorway, looking inside with careful consideration. It's the most private room in the house, tucked away from the main living areas, the farthest from the kids' rooms. The windows face the backyard instead of the street, making it darker and quieter than the other bedrooms. The space is neat but sparse, Hunter's military precision evident in the way everything has its place.
"It's perfect," Amelia whispers, stepping inside. "It's darker than the other rooms. Quieter. Not facing the street where anyone could see in. It feels..." She trails off, struggling to find the right word.
"Safe," Hunter finishes for her, his voice rough with emotion. "It feels safe."
She turns to look at him, at all of us standing in the hallway watching her, and nods. "Is that okay? Can I nest here? I don't want to take over your space if you're not comfortable with it."
Hunter crosses the room in three long strides, his hands coming up to frame her face. "This room has been waiting for you," he says simply. "I just didn't realize it until now."
The kiss he gives her is soft and thorough, taking his time, showing her without words that she's wanted here. When they finally break apart, Amelia is flushed and breathless, leaning into him like he's the only thing keeping her upright.
