“For now,” Poe says quietly.
The words land like a stone in still water, ripples of tension spreading outward. Logan goes very still, his golden eyes fixed on Poe with an intensity that would make most people flinch. Poe doesn’t. He meets Logan’s gaze steadily, a silent challenge in his posture.
I find myself holding my breath, waiting for the explosion. Waiting for Logan to assert his dominance, to use his Alpha voice, to put Poe in his place with the casual cruelty I’ve seen him employ before.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead, Logan’s shoulders drop slightly, the rigid line of his spine softening. “You’re right,” he says, the words so unexpected I’m not sure I heard them correctly.
“What?” Poe looks as surprised as I feel.
“You’re right,” Logan repeats, louder this time. “This affects all of you. You should have a say in what happens next.”
I stare at him, trying to detect the trap, the manipulation beneath this sudden reasonableness. Logan doesn’t concede points. He doesn’t share power. This has to be some kind of strategy, some new approach to get what he wants.
Doesn’t it?
Beside me, Cillian shifts in his chair, a small sound of pain escaping him despite his obvious effort to contain it. The sound draws Logan’s attention, his gaze softening as it lands on his injured pack member.
“You shouldn’t be up,” Logan says, concern evident in his voice. “You need rest.”
“I’m fine,” Cillian replies, the lie obvious to everyone.
“You’re not,” I say before I can stop myself. “Your new stitches barely held through the night. You need to be careful.”
All eyes turn to me again, and I realize my mistake too late. I’ve revealed my knowledge of Cillian’s condition, my care for him, my presence in his room last night.
Logan’s expression shifts, something complicated passing across his features. Jealousy? Concern? Calculation? I can’t read him, can never quite tell what’s genuine and what’s performance.
“I’m well enough to be part of this discussion,” Cillian insists, drawing attention away from me. Whether it’s intentional or not, I’m grateful.
“Fine,” Logan concedes. “But I want everyone’s honest opinion. No holding back out of loyalty or fear or anything else. This decision affects all of us. We should make it together.”
I watch him carefully, trying to reconcile this reasonable, collaborative Logan with the man who forced a bond on me against my will. The man who justified his actions as necessary for my protection while ignoring my explicit refusal.
People don’t change that fundamentally, that quickly. There has to be an angle I’m missing.
“I think we should run,” Ares says, breaking the silence. “Fight another day, when we have better odds.”
“I think we should stay and join the resistance,” Poe counters immediately. “They need a leader and Logan is the only one who might gain the loyalty of the royal guard.”
“And start a civil war in the process,” Ares argues. “How many innocent people die in that scenario, Poe? How much blood on our hands?”
“How much blood is already on our hands from standing by while the king abuses his power?” Poe shoots back. “How many more will suffer if nothing changes?”
The debate continues, voices rising and falling as points are made and countered. I listen without contributing, trying to make sense of the tangled loyalties and motivations at play. Trying to determine where my own interests lie in this power struggle.
If we run, I’ll be far from the dangers of the city, from the king, from the dangers that lurk in Melilla. If we stay and fight, I’ll be vulnerable to recapture, to the horrors I barely escaped, but I might also get the chance to put a stop to it all once and for all.
Neither option is an easy path to freedom. Now it’s just a question of which version of captivity I prefer.
I become aware that the room has fallen silent. I look up to find everyone watching me expectantly.
“What?” I ask, defensive.
“We were asking what you think,” Cillian says quietly beside me. “About staying or going.”
I blink, surprised to be consulted at all. “Why does my opinion matter?”
