The offer is so normal, so purely Margot, that it makes my throat tight. A month ago, I would have said yes. Would have sat at the kitchen island with her and eaten ice cream straight from the carton and let her warmth chase away whatever shadows were creeping in.
But I can't. Not tonight. Not with everything churning inside me.
"I think I'm going to stay out here a little longer," I say. "Clear my head."
Her face flickers—a tiny frown, quickly smoothed. She studies me for a moment, and I can see her weighing whether to push. Whether to insist.
She doesn't.
"Okay, sweetheart." She steps forward and raises up to kiss my forehead. Her lips are warm against my skin. "Don't stay out too long. You'll catch a cold."
"I won't."
She squeezes my arm once, then turns and heads back up the path toward the house. I watch her go—her silhouette getting smaller, the sliding glass door opening in a rectangle of warm light, then closing behind her.
And then I'm alone.
The night has gotten colder. I should go inside, but I'm not ready. The chill feels right somehow. Clarifying. Something real to focus on that isn't the chaos in my head.
I lower myself onto the weathered planks—carefully, so carefully, the ache between my legs still sharp enough to make me wince—and let my feet dangle over the edge. The water is black beneath me, shot through with ribbons of moonlight. Somewhere across the lake, a loon calls. Mournful. Lonely.
I run my hands through my hair. Press my palms against my scalp. Breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
I can't keep doing this.
The thought rises up clear and cold, cutting through the noise. I can't keep hiding in my room, avoiding the brothers, waiting for the next explosion. I can't keep watching Margot's happy oblivious smile while I know that I'm the thing that could destroy everything she's built. I can't keep existing in this house like a ghost, like a secret, like a bomb waiting to go off.
Something has to change.
I have to change it.
The water laps against the dock pilings. Steady. Patient. The same rhythm it's kept for decades, centuries, long before this house existed, long before any of us were born.
I think about Margot's face when she talked about Richard. The softness in her voice. The light in her eyes.
I think about Zero's dead-eyed stare across the living room.
I think about Atlas taking the blame, lying smoothly, protecting a secret that isn't even his to keep.
I think about Bane's guilty silence. The way he won't look at me. The way he looked at me in the library, like something had cracked open inside him.
Three alphas. One secret. And me in the middle of it, the omega who shouldn't exist, the complication that keeps making everything worse.
I have to face them.
Not tomorrow. Not eventually. Soon. I have to look them in the eye and figure out what the hell we're going to do, becausethis—the tension, the fighting, the lies—it's not sustainable. Someone is going to get hurt. Margot is going to get hurt. And I won't let that happen.
If it means swallowing my fear, I'll do it.
If it means having a conversation I've been avoiding, I'll do it.
