Before I could press the thought, Rhett’s voice drifted in from the next room.
“I’ve been doing some research on suppressants.”
Jay’s eyes flicked toward the door. I didn’t answer. Just nodded once, slow and steady, letting Rhett know to go on.
He didn’t come in. Just stood there, pacing again, voice pitched the same as ours—low and careful.
“It’s not great news,” Rhett said, and there was weight behind the words. It cost him something to even say it. “There are studies… not many, but enough to be concerning. Some suggest the longer someone is on suppressants, the more likely they are to experience lasting effects.”
I didn’t speak. Just held Wren a little closer, felt her breath brush against my throat. My arms tightened around the blanket. Around her.
“Lasting,” I said eventually. “As in permanent?”
“Some cases, yeah.” Rhett hesitated. “It can alter hormone receptors. Neural pathways. Change how the body processes its own instincts. And it can make things worse when theydocome off it.”
Jay’s mouth tightened beside me. “Define ‘worse.’”
“Heats that are more volatile. Less predictable. Stronger. Sometimes painful. There’s reports of emotional instability, pain responses heightened... even scent distortion in some cases.”
I didn’t move. Not visibly. But something in me went stone-cold.
“She’s been on them forover a decade,” I said.
Rhett didn’t answer.
Because whatcouldhe say?
Wren stirred again, a soft noise escaping her throat—more a whimper than a word, muffled by the blanket. I shifted my grip, settling her without skin contact, my movements practiced, precise.
She calmed. For now.
Jay moved back to the desk, picking up the container and unsealing it just enough to let some of the scent out—hopefully enough to rouse her gently when the time came. He didn’t look at me, but I felt the tension in him.
“Roan…” he began, hesitating like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to finish the thought.
I beat him to it. “Yeah. I know.”
This was bigger than we thought. And more dangerous.
Still—still—I wouldn’t leave her. Not now. Not again.
My voice was steel when I spoke again, barely audible.
“When she wakes up, she’ll need food. Water. She’ll also need to know she’s not alone in this.”
Jay nodded once. Quiet agreement.
Rhett’s voice came again from the hallway, this time quieter. “Whatever she needs, we’re here for her.”
I glanced at Wren, then at the door. At the men I trusted with my life. I gave a small nod. Gratitude, maybe. Or warning.
Because whatever came next—however hard it got—we weren’t going back to the way things were.
Not now that I knew what she’d been carrying.
Not now that Ifeltit.
When this was over, when she was through the worst of it, Wren and I were going to have a very real conversation.
