"Made this for you," Caleb said, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the railing instead of me, a faint flush on his scarred cheeks. "You don't have to take it. Just... wanted you to have it."
He set it on the railing between us like an offering. Like a prayer.
"Caleb..." I started, guilt clawing at my throat.
"You don't have to say anything," he interrupted, his deep voice rumbling through the night air. "I know you're not ready. I can wait. However long it takes, I can wait." He left before I could respond, disappearing back into the party, leaving me alone with a carved bird and a heart that felt like it was tearing in two.
I took the bird. Slipped it into my pocket. Told myself it was evidence of what I was escaping, not a piece of something I was losing.
Ethan cornered me near the bar, appearing at my elbow like he'd been tracking my movements all night. He probably had been. At twenty-four, he'd already finished medical school, already published research papers that other doctors twice his age envied. His mind was a steel trap, and right now it was focused entirely on me.
"Your stress hormones are elevated," he observed, his green eyes sharp behind his glasses, cataloging every micro-expression on my face. "You're distressed."
"I'm at a Harper party," I said flatly, reaching for a glass of champagne I had no intention of drinking. "Everyone's stress hormones are elevated."
"Not like yours," he pressed, moving closer, lowering his voice to something almost intimate. "I can smell it on you. Something's different tonight." My heart stuttered. Could he tell? Did he know?
"I'm fine, Ethan," I said, forcing steel into my voice, meeting his analytical gaze without flinching.
"You're not," he countered, his head tilting slightly, studying me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve. "But you don't trust me enough to tell me why. That's... unfortunate."
"Why? Because you want to help me?" I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice.
"Because we all do," he said quietly, something almost like hurt flickering behind his clinical mask. "We've only ever wanted to help you, Ava. To take care of you. The data on Omega wellbeing is clear — pack bonds provide stability, security?—"
"I don't want to hear about data," I cut him off, setting down the champagne glass harder than necessary, the crystal ringing against the bar top. "I don't want to hear about bonds or biology or what's supposed to make me happy."
"Then what do you want?" he asked, and for a moment, he sounded genuinely curious. Genuinely confused.
To be free, I thought.To choose my own life. To be more than a data point in your research.
"I want to be left alone," I said instead, and walked away before he could quote more statistics at me.
Leo found me in the library, hidden behind a shelf of books, trying to make myself small enough to disappear.
He was only twenty-three, just five years older than me, but sometimes he seemed like the oldest of all of them. Not in maturity, god no, but in the weight behind his eyes. The wayhis jokes always felt like armor. David's biological son from a one-night stand, discovered at eight years old and thrown into a world he'd never asked for. Maybe that's why he saw through me so easily. He knew what it felt like to not fit.
"There's my favorite flight risk," he said, dropping into the chair across from me with a grin that didn't reach his hazel eyes. "Having fun?"
"Go away, Leo," I muttered, not looking up from the book I wasn't reading.
"Can't," he replied cheerfully, propping his feet up on the table, crossing his arms behind his head in a pose of deliberate casualness. "I've been assigned guard duty. Mason's worried you're going to make a break for it."
My blood went cold. "I'm not going anywhere," I said, forcing the words out through numb lips.
"Liar," Leo said softly, the teasing gone from his voice, something raw and knowing taking its place. "You've got running in your eyes, Red. Had it since the day you presented. We all see it."
I didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything.
"You know what I think?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hazel eyes intense and searching. "I think you're not scared of us. I think you're scared of how much you want us."
My heart stopped.
"I think," he continued, relentless, each word landing like a blow, "that every time Mason touches you, you want to lean in. Every time Caleb gives you one of his little carvings, you want to cry. Every time Ethan explains why we'd be good for you, part of you believes him. And every time I make you laugh, you hate yourself for it."
"Stop," I whispered, my voice cracking.
"I think you love us, Ava," Leo said, his voice dropping to something almost tender, almost wounded. "Already. And that terrifies you."
