"What about you?" I grabbed her arm, panic rising. "If they find out you helped me?—"
"Let me worry about that," she said firmly, covering my hand with hers. "I'll play the distraught mother. Shocked and heartbroken that my daughter ran away without a word. They'll believe it. David's always underestimated me."
"Mom, I can't let you?—"
"Avalon." She took my face in her hands again, forcing me to meet her eyes. "I have spent eighteen years protecting you. Keeping you safe. Preparing you for whatever life throws at you. This is what mothers do. We sacrifice. We plan. We make sure our children have the chance to fly, even when it breaks our hearts to watch them go."
I was crying now. Really crying. And so was she, tears streaming down her face even as she smiled.
"I love you," I choked out. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, baby," she whispered, pulling me into a fierce hug. "Now go wash your face, put on that dress, and go play the part of the dutiful Omega one last time. And then you run. You run and you don't stop until you've built a life that's yours. Understand?"
"I understand," I said against her shoulder, holding on like I might never let go.
She pulled back, wiping her eyes, composing herself with a skill that spoke to years of practice. "The service entrance. After eleven, when the catering staff starts packing up. There will be chaos. No one will notice one more person slipping out."
I nodded, memorizing every detail.
"And Avalon?" She paused at the door, looking back at me with something fierce and sad and proud all tangled together. "If you ever decide you want to come back, if you ever decide those boys are worth staying for, that's okay too. This isn't about running forever. It's about having the choice to run at all."
Then she was gone, and I was alone with a bag full of escape supplies and a heart full of terrified hope.
The party was exactly as awful as I'd expected.
Mason found me within minutes of my arrival, his hand settling on the small of my back with practiced possessiveness. At twenty-five, he'd already taken over most of the family's operations from David. Already carried himself like he owned every room he walked into. Already looked at me like I was something he'd been waiting his whole life to claim.
"Avalon," he said, his honey-brown eyes scanning my face like he could read every secret I'd ever kept. "You look beautiful tonight."
"Thank you," I replied, keeping my voice even, my expression neutral, betraying nothing of the escape plan burning in my mind.
"Dance with me," he said, and it wasn't a question. I let him lead me to the floor because my mother was right, I had to play the part. One last time. Mason held me close as we swayed, his scent wrapping around me like chains made of honey and smoke.
"You've been avoiding us," he observed quietly, his lips close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
"I've been busy," I lied, the words coming easier than I expected.
"For three years?" His hand tightened on my waist, a subtle reminder of his strength, his claim. I didn't answer. Just let him hold me and counted the minutes until I could slip away.
"We've been patient, Avalon," Mason continued, pulling back to meet my eyes, his gaze intense, searching. "We've given you time to adjust, to finish school. But you're eighteen now. It's time to discuss the future."
"Our future?" I asked, keeping my voice carefully blank.
"Our future," he confirmed, something fierce and possessive flickering in his honey-brown eyes. "You know what you are to us. What you've always been."
I did know. That was the problem. That was why I had to leave. The song ended. Mason released me reluctantly, his fingers trailing down my arm in a touch that felt like a brand, like he was marking me even without his teeth.
"Think about it," he said, stepping back but not looking away, not giving me even a moment of space. "We won't wait forever."
He walked away, and I stood in the middle of the dance floor, shaking.
Caleb found me on the balcony, where I'd escaped to gasp for air that didn't smell like Alpha possession. At twenty-two, he was the youngest of the four, but already the biggest, a wall of muscle and quiet intensity. The scars on his face made him look older, fiercer, but his eyes were always soft when they landed on me.
He didn't say anything at first. Just stood beside me, his massive frame blocking the wind, his scarred face turned up toward the stars. Waiting. Always waiting.
"You okay?" His deep voice was soft, careful, like he was afraid of spooking a wild animal.
"Fine," I said, the lie automatic by now. He was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small. A bird. Carved from pale wood, wings spread mid-flight, beautiful in its delicacy.
