"We'll be there when she stops fighting," Leo said, his gray eyes gleaming. "Ready to catch her."
I pushed away from the counter, my decision made. "I'm going to sit outside her door. She shouldn't be alone."
"She asked for space," Mason noted, though there was no real protest in his voice.
"She asked for the illusion of privacy. She can have that," I replied, looking at him with steel in my gaze. "But I'm not leaving her alone after she tried to hurt herself. I'll stay quiet. I won't go in unless she needs me. But I'll be there. Always." I didn't wait for their response. Just walked back down the hall to the bedroom door and settled against the wall, my back to the wood, my ears straining for any sound from inside.
I could hear her breathing. Slow and shaky, punctuated by the occasional soft sob. Through the bond, I felt her misery, vast and dark and overwhelming. She thought she was drowning. She thought this was the end.
She didn't understand yet that this was the beginning. I remembered the way she used to look at me when she was young. Cautious at first, I was so much bigger than her, so much more intimidating than the others. But she'd warmed up eventually, started leaving little drawings outside my door, and seeking me out when the house felt too big and too empty.
She'd felt safe with me once. She would again.
I closed my eyes and let myself remember. The first time she'd fallen asleep against my shoulder. She was twelve, exhausted from some nightmare, and she'd wandered into the living room where I was watching TV. She'd curled up next to me without a word, and within minutes, she was asleep. I'd sat there for three hours, not moving, barely breathing, terrified of waking her.
That was the night I knew I would do anything for her. Anything to keep her safe. Anything to keep her close.
Through the door, I heard her crying grow louder. Felt her anguish spike through the bond. My whole body tensed with the need to go to her, to hold her, to make it stop.
I didn't move. She needed to exhaust herself. To burn through the anger and the fear and the denial. And when she was empty, when she had nothing left to fight with, we'd be there to fill her back up.
"Caleb?" Her voice came through the door, small and broken, barely above a whisper. "I know you're out there. I can feel you." I didn't respond. Just waited, my body still as stone.
"I meant what I said," Ava continued, her voice steadier now, edged with defiance despite the tears I could hear beneath it. "I'm never going to forgive you. Any of you."
"You will," I said quietly, my deep voice rumbling through the door. "Eventually." A long pause. I could hear her shift on the other side, could feel her anger spike through the bond.
"No, I won't," Ava insisted, her voice sharp with conviction.
"You loved us once," I replied, my tone simple and honest. "When you were young. Before you learned to be afraid."
"That was different," she argued, frustration threading through her voice. "I was a child. I didn't know?—"
"You knew enough," I interrupted gently, my palm pressing flat against the door. "You knew you were safe with us…we may be a few years older than you…but you knew we'd never hurt you. You knew you belonged."
"I don't belong to anyone," Ava snarled, her voice rising with fury.
"You belong to us," I corrected, calm and certain. "You always have. You just forgot for a while." Silence from the other side of the door. Through the bond, I felt her rage, and underneath it, something she didn't want to acknowledge. A flicker of memory. A whisper of doubt.
"You barely spoke to me," Ava said finally, her voice quieter now, almost accusatory. "All those years at the Harper house. You never said more than a few words."
"No," I confirmed, my voice a low rumble.
"Why?" she pressed, genuine confusion in her tone.
"Because I knew what I was," I said, my voice rough with honesty. "What I am. We had a feeling what you would be…an Omega. We all knew that." I let that sit for a moment, letting her absorb the weight of it. "I didn't trust myself to speak to you. Didn't trust what might come out."
Another long silence. I could hear her breathing change—faster, processing.
"That's... honest," Ava said slowly, surprise coloring her voice.
"I won't lie to you. Not about this. Not about anything," I promised, my voice steady and sure.
"You lied to me for three years," she shot back, bitterness sharpening her words. "You all did."
"We kept things from you," I corrected, my voice flat and unapologetic. "To protect the plan. To make sure we got you back. But I never lied about how I felt. None of us did."
"And you don't feel bad about any of it," Ava said, her tone searching, trying to understand. "The stalking. The manipulation. The—the claiming."
