"How could I trust you?" Ava whispered. "I saw what your family was. What you were capable of."
"I know." I didn't try to defend it. Couldn't. "But we would never have hurt you. Never. Everything we did, everything we planned, it was all to keep you safe. To bring you home."
She was quiet for a long moment, processing. Her body had relaxed slightly, the desperate tension easing into something softer. Not comfortable, she was still wound too tight for that, but less defensive.
"Your turn," Ava said finally, her green eyes meeting mine. "Tell me something true. Something you never showed me back then. I thought I knew you too—Leo, the charming one, the funny one, the one who made everything a joke. But that wasn't real, was it?"
I hesitated. This wasn't part of the plan. I was supposed to be breaking her down, teaching her that resistance was futile, making her beg for relief. Instead, I was lying beside herhaving an actual conversation, revealing pieces of myself I'd kept hidden for years.
She'd been brave enough to share. And I wanted her to trust me—really trust me, not just surrender because she had no other choice.
"I write poetry," I admitted, the words feeling strange in my mouth. "Have since I was a kid. Before I even came to live with the Harpers. Stupid, sappy stuff about feelings and beauty and all the things I pretend not to care about."
Ava's eyebrows rose. "You write poetry? I lived in that house for eight years and never knew that."
"No one knows," I said, forcing lightness into my voice even as my chest tightened with vulnerability. "It's not exactly on brand for me, is it? Leo the poet. Doesn't have the same ring as Leo the chaos agent."
"I want to read it," Ava said, and there was no mockery in her tone, just genuine curiosity. The same curiosity she'd had as a girl, always wanting to understand, always digging beneath the surface.
"Maybe someday," I replied, my hand resuming its slow exploration of her skin. "If you're good." She shivered at the touch, her hips shifting restlessly. I'd let her cool down too much during our conversation. Time to bring her back to the edge.
"Leo," Ava breathed as my fingers traced higher, closer to where she needed them. "Please."
"Please what?" I asked again, but softer this time, my lips brushing against her ear. "Tell me what you need, Red. Use your words."
"I need..." She trailed off, her jaw clenching with the effort of holding back.
"You need your Alphas," I finished for her, my fingers dancing along the crease of her thigh, so close but not quite touching. "Say it. Tell me you need us."
"No," Ava gasped, but her body was saying yes, arching toward me, seeking contact. I pulled back, withdrawing my hand entirely, and she hissed at me, an actual hiss, sharp and frustrated, the sound of an Omega pushed past her limits. The moment it escaped, her face flushed with shame, her eyes squeezing shut.
"Don't," I said softly, cupping her face, turning her toward me. "Don't be embarrassed. You used to hiss at me all the time when you were little. When I'd steal your dessert or hide your books. Remember?"
A surprised laugh escaped her, watery but real. "You were such an ass."
"Still am," I agreed, grinning. "But you loved me anyway. Even then. I could tell."
"I didn't—" she started, then stopped, her eyes meeting mine with something raw and honest. "Maybe I did. A little. You treated me like I was normal. Not David's stepdaughter… just... Ava."
"You were never just anything," I said quietly, my thumb tracing her cheekbone. "You were everything. Even then. We all knew it. We were just waiting for you to grow up."
Tears gathered in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them. "I hate this," Ava whispered. "I hate needing you. I hate how my body betrays me. I hate that part of me never stopped wanting to come home."
"I know," I murmured, gathering her against my chest, stroking her hair as she cried. "I know, sweetheart. I know." We stayed like that for a while, her tears soaking into my shirt, her body slowly relaxing against mine. I held her through it, making soft sounds of comfort, letting her feel the steady beat of my heart against her cheek.
"You're the only person who's ever made me want to be gentle," I admitted quietly, my lips pressed to the top of herhead. "Even before you presented. Even when you were just a kid following me around, asking a million questions. You made me want to be better than I was."
Ava pulled back slightly, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Then why did you let me go? Why didn't you stop me from running?"
The question hit like a blade between my ribs. "Because you weren't ready," I said honestly. "You were eighteen and terrified and you'd just seen... you'd seen things that scared you. If we'd kept you then, you would have hated us forever. Really hated us. We thought... we thought if we gave you time, let you live a little, you'd come back on your own."
"But I didn't."
"No. You didn't. So we came for you." I brushed hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "We'll always come for you, Ava. That's what pack does."
She stared at me for a long moment, something complicated moving behind her eyes. Then, so softly I almost missed it, she asked: "Will you tell me more? About the real you? Not the Leo I grew up with. The one underneath."
My chest ached with something I couldn't name. "Yeah," I said roughly. "Yeah, I can do that."
