She weighed almost nothing in my arms.
That was the thought that kept cycling through my head as I walked — quickly, purposefully, trying not to jostle her too much — through the streets toward our dorm. She was so light. So fragile. So breakable in a way that made every protective instinct I had scream at me to hold her tighter, to never let go, to shield her from everything that had ever hurt her and everything that ever might.
The bond pulsed in my chest, still settling into place, still raw and new and overwhelming. I could feel her through it now — not clearly, not the way a completed bond would feel, but enough. Enough to know she was exhausted. Enough to know she was scared. Enough to know that despite everything, she was starting to trust us.
She was starting to trustme.
The weight of that trust settled onto my shoulders alongside everything else I carried — the responsibility for my pack, the fear of failing them, the constant pressure of being the one whohad to be strong when everyone else was falling apart. Now there was her. Now there was Keira, sleeping in my arms, depending on me to get her somewhere safe.
Don't fail her, my alpha growled, pacing restlessly in my mind.Whatever you do, don't fail her.
"I won't," I muttered under my breath, adjusting my grip on her as I turned a corner, my arms tightening protectively around her small frame. "I won't."
She stirred slightly at the sound of my voice, her head shifting against my chest, a small sound escaping her lips. But she didn't wake. The soul sickness had taken too much out of her, and now that she was surrounded by my scent, her body was finally letting itself rest.
Good. She needed rest. She needed food and water and warmth and the presence of her pack surrounding her. She needed everything we'd been desperate to give her since the moment we'd realized she was ours.
Now, finally, she was letting us.
The dorm wasn't far — maybe a fifteen-minute walk from the park where I'd found her. I could have called a car, could have gotten there faster, but something about carrying her felt important. Felt right. Like my body needed to do this, needed to physically bring her home, needed to feel her weight in my arms and her heartbeat against my chest.
She was real. She was here. She wasours.
I was never letting her go again.
My phone buzzed in my pocket — probably one of the others, frantic for news. I ignored it. They'd know soon enough. I'd be there soon enough. I couldn't exactly answer without putting her down, and that was absolutely not happening.
The streets blurred past as I walked. People stared — of course they did, a man carrying an unconscious woman through the city wasn't exactly a common sight — but I didn't care. Letthem stare. Let them wonder. Let them take photos and post them online and create whatever scandal they wanted. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered except getting her home.
Home.
I'd never thought of the dorm as home before. It was where we lived, where we worked, where we existed between schedules and appearances and the endless grind of idol life. But now, with her in my arms, the word took on new meaning. Home wasn't a place. Home was people. Home was pack.
Home was her.
She stirred again as I approached the building, her fingers curling weakly in the fabric of my shirt. Her scent shifted slightly — still tired, still sick, but with something new underneath. Something that felt almost like hope.
"Almost there," I murmured, pitching my voice low and soft, trying not to startle her as I adjusted my hold to push through the building's front entrance. "Just a few more minutes. The pack is waiting."
"Pack," she repeated, the word slurred with exhaustion, her eyes still closed, her lashes dark against her too-pale cheeks. "That sounds... nice."
My chest tightened painfully. Such a simple word. Such a simple concept. And yet it had taken her twelve years and nearly collapsing on a park bench to let herself want it.
"It is nice," I promised, my voice rougher than I intended as I shouldered open the building's inner door. "It's the best thing in the world. And now you're part of it." She didn't respond, already drifting back toward sleep, but her fingers tightened slightly in my shirt. Holding on. Trusting me to carry her the rest of the way.
I took the stairs instead of the elevator — faster, less chance of running into anyone who might ask questions. My legs burned by the time I reached our floor, my arms aching from holding herfor so long, but I barely noticed. All I could focus on was the door at the end of the hallway. The door that led to our dorm. Our pack. Our home.
I didn't have a free hand to open it, so I kicked instead — three sharp raps against the wood that I hoped would translate as "open the door immediately."
It worked.
The door flew open so fast I was surprised it didn't come off its hinges, and then Tae-min was there, his eyes huge and frantic, his ocean-and-mint scent flooding with relief and worry in equal measure.
"Hyung, you found—" He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze dropping to the woman in my arms, and I watched his whole face transform. Fear. Hope. Love. Desperation. All of it cycling through his expression so fast I could barely track it, his hands reaching out and then pulling back like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch. "Is she okay? What happened? Why isn't she moving? Is she?—"
"She's sleeping," I interrupted, pushing past him into the dorm, my shoulder brushing against his as I moved toward the hallway. "The fifth bond triggered. She's exhausted, but she's stable. Being near us helps. We need to get her to the nest."
The others appeared like they'd been summoned — Hwan from the living room, his golden eyes red-rimmed and wet, his hands twisting together in front of him; Jin-ho from his studio, his notebook abandoned on the couch, his usually calm expression cracked wide open with worry; Min-jun from the kitchen, his hands still dusted with flour, his forest-and-cedar scent sharp with the same protective anxiety that was flooding through all of us.
