"Rosemarie?"
"I love it," I say, reaching out to take the newspaper from her hands. I examine the photo—really look at it, at the joy captured in that single moment, at the pack I've somehow stumbled into, at the life I'm building from nothing. "This is amazing. We look amazing. Please tell me you got extra copies."
Ruby blinks, clearly thrown by my reaction. Then, slowly, a smile creeps across her face. "I got five. Shh, don't tell anyone—I may have liberated them from the print room."
"Five copies." I press the newspaper to my chest like it's something precious. Because it is. It's proof. Proof that I exist, that I belong somewhere, that I'm not just a ghost drifting through life waiting for someone to drag me back to a cage. "Ruby, I love you. I genuinely, truly love you."
She laughs—relieved and a little watery around the edges. "Love you too, babe. Even when you're being weird about property damage."
"I prefer 'resilient in the face of adversity.'"
"That too."
The tension breaks, just a little. Just enough for me to breathe again.
The police arrive within ten minutes—two officers in a patrol car, looking appropriately serious as they approach the scene. Julian takes the lead, explaining what we found, when we found it, pointing out the various areas of damage with the clinical precision of someone who's dealt with law enforcement before. I hang back with Ruby, watching him work, grateful that I don't have to be the one fielding questions right now.
One of the officers—a middle-aged Beta with tired eyes—examines the broken window and frowns. "Unfortunately, there aren't any cameras pointed at this angle. The closest one is on the corner, but it faces the other direction." He makes a note on his pad. "We'll check with the neighboring shop owners, see if any of them have private security footage that might have caught something."
"What about fingerprints?" Julian asks. "Or DNA evidence?"
"We'll dust for prints, but if whoever did this wore gloves..." The officer shrugs apologetically. "It's not like the movies, I'm afraid. These kinds of vandalism cases can be difficult to solve without witnesses or clear footage."
Difficult to solve. Which means whoever did this might get away with it. Might be emboldened to try again.
I push the thought away. One problem at a time.
Julian speaks quietly with the officers for a few more minutes, then walks back to where Ruby and I are standing. His expression is carefully neutral, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes.
"I'm going to stay and handle things here," he says, his voice gentle in a way that still catches me off guard. "Get statements from the neighbors, coordinate with the investigators, arrange for the window to be boarded up. But I want you to go home. Be with Tank and Elias until we figure out what's going on."
"Are you sure?" I ask, and I hate how small my voice sounds. How uncertain. "I don't want to be a burden. I can help?—"
"Rosemarie." He steps closer, invading my space in a way that would have made me flinch a month ago but now just feels like comfort. His hand comes up to cup my face, tilting my chin so I have to meet his eyes. "Let me handle this. Please."
And then he kisses me.
Soft. Tender. Nothing like the demanding heat of the ball or the playful banter in the car. This is something quieter—a reassurance, a promise, a moment of connection in the middle of chaos. His lips are warm against mine, and his hand slides to the back of my neck, cradling me like I'm something precious.
I'm not expecting this. I'm not expecting him to be tender. Julian is sharp edges and defensive walls and carefully maintained distance. He's not supposed to be gentle. He's not supposed to make me feel safe with nothing but a kiss and a soft touch.
But he does. God help me, he does.
When he pulls back, his thumb traces along my cheekbone, wiping away a tear I didn't realize had escaped. "It's going to be fine," he says. "We're going to figure out who did this, and we're going to handle it. But right now, I need you somewhere safe. Can you do that for me?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
His hand moves to my back, rubbing slow, soothing circles through my coat. It's such a simple gesture, but it unravels something inside me. This is what comfort looks like from someone who's not used to giving it. This is Julian trying, actively trying, to make me feel better.
This is different. This is so different from anything I've ever experienced. My ex-pack would have blamed me. Would have demanded to know what I did to provoke this, what trouble I brought to their doorstep, how I was going to fix my own mess. They never would have offered comfort. They never would have taken over so I could rest.
The officers confirm they'll begin their investigation immediately, canvassing the neighborhood for witnesses and checking for any available footage. Julian nods, all business again, and turns back to me.
"I'll stay here and coordinate. You go home."
"I can give her a ride," Ruby volunteers, already fishing her car keys from her pocket. "Don't even worry about it. She's in good hands."
Julian looks at her for a moment, assessing, then nods. "Thank you." He reaches into his wallet and pulls out several bills—more than several, actually, enough to make my eyes widen—and presses them into my hands before I can protest.
