I don’t move right away.I let myself feel it.The weight of her.The echo of last night.The knowledge that when she told the truth, everything changed, and somehow, nothing essential broke.
That’s rare.
When she finally stirs, it’s gradual, like she’s surfacing from deep water.Her lashes flutter, her brow creases, and then her eyes open, dark and alert even softened by sleep.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs.
“Observing,” I correct quietly.
Her mouth twitches.“Still here?”
“Always.”
She exhales, a sound that feels like relief more than anything else, and presses her lips briefly to my chest before easing away.I feel the instinct to pull her back flare sharp and possessive, but I let it pass.She isn’t going anywhere.
She dresses slowly, methodically, like she’s relearning how to exist in a place that doesn’t require constant readiness to flee.I pull on my own clothes with care, the silver burn still aching but manageable.
Outside, the compound is already moving.
We step into the morning air together, and I feel the shift immediately—not tension, not suspicion, but attention.Not sharp or invasive, just curious and watchful.Wolves glance up as we pass.Talon pauses mid-conversation and lifts her chin in greeting.Max nods once, eyes sharp but approving.Calum’s gaze flicks to Trinity, then back to me, something thoughtful settling in his expression.
No one whispers.
No one recoils.
And Trinity notices too.I feel it through the bond, the wary anticipation, the waiting for the moment when acceptance turns.It doesn’t.Peyton intercepts us near the main dining hall, a steaming mug in each hand.She presses one into Trinity’s grasp without ceremony.
“Drink,” she says.“You look like you forgot what sleep does.”
Trinity huffs softly.“I might have.”
Peyton smiles, warm and unguarded.“Caine wants to speak with you both.”
Trinity stiffens.
I place a hand at her back, grounding but not guiding.“We’ll be there.”
Caine waits near the long table, posture relaxed but unmistakably Alpha.He studies us as we approach, not to assess strength, but to measure something subtler.Trust.
“You saved lives,” he says without preamble.
Trinity swallows.“I told the truth.”
“That too,” he agrees.“But more than that, you chose the pack.”
Her shoulders loosen just a fraction.
“We don’t turn away tools that keep us alive,” he continues evenly.“And we don’t exile wolves for gifts they didn’t ask for.”
Her breath catches.
“You see the dead,” Caine says calmly.“That doesn’t make you dangerous.It makes you informed.”A ripple of quiet amusement moves through the wolves nearby.
Trinity’s eyes shine.“You’re not afraid?”
“I’m afraid of Hunters,” Caine replies dryly.“And wolves who think power means cruelty.You’re neither.”He nods once, decisive.“You’re welcome here.Fully.If you choose to stay.”
She doesn’t hesitate.“I want to be here,” she says.
