Silence spun out.
No, if it continued at this pace, it would be absolute madness. The primitive, biological drives would take over. I didn’t even question whether or not I would be susceptible to it. Wren touched me in ways no one ever had—alpha, beta, or omega. The fact that her need was a keening demand in the air called to me on the most fundamental level.
I stood slowly, because sitting wasn’t helping anything. Neither was pretending that my hands weren’t shaking, that my breath didn’t hitch when I thought about her voice breaking,about her looking at Roan like he was the only damn lifeline she had left.
I swallowed hard.
“You’ve always led us,” I told Roan. “So lead now. Tell us what the hell we do.”
Roan didn’t answer right away.
His shoulders stayed tight, spine straight, like if he let his posture give even a little, the whole dam inside him would crack open. I could see the war on his face, the tension riding every muscle. The alpha in him wasscreamingand he was denying it with everything he had.
And I knew why, for the same reason I was. It wasn’t about ego or pride, but Wren. This was ourWren. That possessive hit like a Mack truck.
Ours.
She wasours.
The woman who drank her coffee blacker than sin and smiled like a knife’s edge. Who kept us out of scandals and fights and jail cells. Who’d been our handler, our babysitter, our sharp-eyed guardian long before any of us even noticedwhoshe was underneath.
Roan hadnoticed. Maybe longer than the rest of us. Maybetoolong.
“She’s not some omega in heat,” he said finally, voice tight with barely checked strain. “She’s Wren.”
“We know that,” I snapped, too fast, too hard.
His head jerked slightly like I’d hit him, but I didn’t back down. The pressure had been building in me since we walked through that door and smelled her on the air like wildfire. And I wasn’t proud of the temper coiling through my gut, but I wasn’t ashamed of it either.
“If shewasn’tWren,” I went on, louder now, “we wouldn’t be here. You think I’d be fighting every goddamn instinct in mybody right now for justanyone? You think Jay would be sitting on his hands, burning from the inside out, ifshewasn’ther?”
Roan turned to me slowly, and I saw the flicker in his eyes. Pain. Conflict. Guilt.
“She matters,” he said, so quietly it barely made sound.
I stepped in closer, jaw clenched. “Then stop acting like she only matters toyou.”
That did it.
Something behind his gaze flared hot, challenge, or maybe grief.
Jay didn’t move, didn’t even breathe loud, but I felt him right behind me, that steady presence grounding me before I went too far. But I wasn’t finished—not yet.
“She’s important toallof us,” I said, voice quieter but sharper than before. “You’re not the only one who sees her. Who’s seen her foryears. She’s not your burden to carry. She’s not some line you have to walk alone while Jay and I pretend we’re not coming apart at the seams.”
Roan’s hands flexed open at his sides, then clenched again.
“She didn’t ask for this,” he said.
“No,” I agreed. “But she’sinit now. She’s suffering. And if you think standing in this room while she burns alive in the other one is the noble fucking choice, then maybe you’re not thinking as clearly as you believe you are.”
Roan’s nostrils flared. His mouth opened—then shut.
The silence that followed was tight and charged.
Jay broke it, his voice low, certain. “We can’t fix this by pretending it’s not happening.”
Roan finally looked up at us both. Reallylooked.
