That's it.
No yelling.
No lecture.
Just that low, simmering tone that says the real storm is waiting at the end of the drive.
I press my forehead to the cool glass of the passenger window and count my breaths.
One.
Two.
Three.
I didn't push her.
He doesn't believe me.
I have no idea what kind of punishment you get for almost killing a scent match you didn't actually touch.
But I know, bone-deep, that by the time we pull into the driveway, my life is going to be very different—whether the cameras ever clear my name or not.
Chapter 18
They take Marie to the hospital first.
The emergency room smells like antiseptic and worry. I sit in the waiting area with Eli while Ragon and Drake disappear behind double doors with Marie in another wheelchair. Jasper stands by the windows, arms crossed, watching traffic like it holds answers.
"X-rays," Eli says quietly beside me. "Just to be safe. The ankle looked bad."
I nod. My hands are still shaking.
An hour later, Drake emerges. "Sprained ankle. Grade two. They wrapped it, gave her crutches, told her to ice and elevate. No fractures."
Relief floods through me even though I know it changes nothing.
Marie limps out on Drake's arm, ankle wrapped in medical tape that makes her skin look pale. Her elbow is bandaged too. She doesn't look at me.
In the truck on the way home, Jasper speaks from the third row.
"I'll have to file an incident report."
Ragon's hands tighten on the wheel. "What?"
"You know I work at the registry. Data analysis, compliance monitoring. When there's an injury to abonded or custodial omega during a pack outing, especially one involving potential inter-omega conflict, it triggers mandatory reporting. I don't have a choice."
Marie's head whips around. "You're going to report her?"
"I'm going to report the incident," Jasper says evenly. "Facts. Timeline. Injury assessment. What happens after that depends on what the facts say."
"The facts say she pushed me," Marie says.
Jasper doesn't answer.
My stomach twists tighter.
The front door ricochets off the wall like it's as scared as I am. Ragon doesn't shove me, but his scent does—smoke and iron and command herding me over the threshold while my breath scrapes at my throat.
