We walk out as a united front, leaving her red-faced, shaking, and muttering something about professionalism behind us.
The second we hit the parking lot, Lincoln exhales and laughs under his breath, punching us each in the shoulder.
“I’m proud of you idiots.”
I roll my eyes, but warmth flares in my chest anyway. It’s stupid how good it feels. We’re finally a pack, and we have our eyes on an omega like no other.
Lincoln pulls out his phone immediately. “I’m telling Bayleigh. She’ll freak out.”
He scrolls, searching for her name, and I swear he gets softer just seeing it. “Maybe we can take her out tonight. Catch a movie. Didn’t she say she wanted to see the newWicked?”
“Oh she texted us earlier checking in. See perfect timing.” He smiles as he texts her.
Nothing.
Then again. Still nothing.
My stomach tightens. Because shetextedus earlier and I ignored it.
Milton leans over his shoulder, frowning hard enough to carve new lines into his forehead. “Try again.”
Lincoln does.
Again and again.
No dots or read receipts.
No reply.
Just… silence.
A cold, heavy feeling settles in my chest. My instincts—usually sharp, usually reliable—start screaming. I told myself it was better this way—get through the meeting, hear whatever bullshit they planned to throw at us, then go to her with facts instead of fear. No half-truths. No maybes.
Lincoln tries Benton next.
Benton answers with, “Get bent,” and hangs up.
What the fuck.
I try calling him again, but it goes straight to voicemail.
Now all three of us are on alert.
I pace the length of the parking space, fists clenching and unclenching, imagining every worst-case scenario like they’re trying to claw their way out of my ribs.
Milton refreshes the group chat every three seconds. That unanswered message . . .
Lincoln texts her again.
And again.
Still nothing.
We go home, restless and wired, every second stretching thin. We sit in the living room, TV off, lights dim, waiting for a message that doesn’t come. Minutes bleed into hours.
At some point, Lincoln whispers, “Something’s wrong.”
Milton nods, but I don’t say a single word, because I know he’s right. I felt it the second the silence kept going. And the not knowing is tearing me apart.
