"Not yet," I agreed, my voice a low rumble. She would be. We'd make sure of it.
"She tried to claw out my mark," Mason continued, his voice tight, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Through the bond, I felt his determination hardening beneath the hurt. "She hates us right now, Caleb. All of us."
"Right now," I confirmed, keeping my tone flat, my expression unchanged. "She loved us once. She'll love us again."
"That's what I keep telling myself," Mason said, some of the tension easing from his shoulders as he remembered. "She used to follow me around the house like a little shadow. Used to light up whenever I walked into a room."
"She did," I agreed. Those memories sustained all of us. The way she'd looked at us before the world convinced her she didn't need anyone. Before she built those walls so high she couldn't see over them anymore. "We just have to remind her."
"For how long?" Mason asked, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
"As long as it takes," I replied simply, my voice brooking no argument. "She'll come around. One way or another." Ethan emerged next, closing the door softly behind him. His green eyes swept over both of us, assessing, calculating. Always calculating. His dark hair was still mussed, but his gaze was sharp as a blade.
"We need to talk," Ethan said, his voice low and controlled, his posture straight, radiating quiet confidence. "Not here. She can probably hear us."
We moved to the kitchen. Leo was already there, sitting at the table with his head in his hands, his dark hair falling over his fingers. He looked up when we entered, his gray eyes troubled—not with doubt about what we'd done, but with frustration at her reaction.
"That was rough," Leo said flatly, his usual playful energy subdued. "I didn't expect her to hurt herself."
"She's fighting the bonds," Ethan replied, moving to the coffee maker with practiced efficiency, his movements precise and controlled. "It's a normal response initially. The literature suggests the adjustment period can take weeks, sometimes months. But she'll adapt. They always do."
"She looked at us like we were monsters," Leo said, his gray eyes hard with displeasure. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. "I don't like it."
"None of us like it," I said, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "But it's temporary." Three pairs of eyes turned to me. I met their gazes steadily, my expression as impassive as stone.
"She loved us before," I continued, my voice flat and certain, my ice-blue eyes moving from face to face. "When she was young, before her mother filled her head with fear about Alphas, before she convinced herself she was better off alone. She loved us. She'll remember that."
"And if she doesn't remember on her own?" Leo asked, his jaw tight.
"Then we remind her," Ethan said simply, pouring coffee into four mugs with precise movements, his green eyes calm with certainty. "Every day. We show her what we can give her. We make her see that this life is better than the one she was living."
"We did what was necessary," Mason added, his voice steady now, conviction replacing the earlier hurt. He crossed his arms over his chest, his honey-brown eyes resolute. "She was killing herself slowly. The suppressants were destroying her body. The isolation was destroying her mind. We saved her. She just doesn't see it yet."
"She will," I said, my tone leaving no room for doubt. "She has no choice. The bonds are permanent. Eventually, fighting them will exhaust her. When she stops fighting, she'll feel what we feel. She'll understand."
"How long do you think?" Leo asked, some of his usual energy returning now that the path forward was clear. His gray eyes sparked with renewed determination.
"Weeks. Maybe months," Ethan replied, taking a measured sip of his coffee. "But she's ours now. We have all the time in the world."
"I remember how she used to look at me," Mason said, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, warmth bleedingthrough the bond. "Like I hung the moon. She was only ten, but she used to blush whenever I talked to her."
"She used to bring me books," Leo added, his smirk returning. "Little things she thought I'd like. She was so eager to please us back then."
"She trusted us," Ethan said, his green eyes distant with memory. "Before she learned to be afraid. Before her mother died and she decided she had to do everything alone."
"She'll trust us again," I said, my voice a low rumble of absolute certainty. "We just have to be patient. Show her that we're not going anywhere. That fighting us is pointless."
"And the self-harm?" Mason asked, his brow furrowing. "We can't let her hurt herself."
"We watch her more closely," I replied, my jaw setting with determination. "She doesn't leave our sight until we're sure she won't try again. If she can't be trusted with her own safety, we handle it for her."
"She'll hate that," Leo pointed out, though there was no objection in his tone.
"She already hates us," I said flatly. "A little more won't matter. And eventually, when she realizes we're doing it because we love her, she'll understand."
"She loved us once," Mason repeated, like a mantra, like a promise. "She can love us again."
"She will," Ethan confirmed, setting down his coffee mug with a soft click. "The bonds will help. Every day she feels our love, our devotion, our certainty—it will wear her down. She can't fight biology forever."
