"Lumi—"
"Talk to James." I held his gaze. "He's pack. He wants to help. Let him."
Stone's jaw worked. The gold in his eyes flickered—anger, fear, something rawer underneath.
"You're telling me to go to them instead of you."
"I'm telling you to figure out what you need from them so that when you hold me, you're not terrified of what you might do."
The words hung between us.
Stone stared at me. His chest was heaving now, breath coming faster. I felt the war inside him through the bond—the part that wanted to rage, the part that wanted to collapse, the part that was desperately relieved someone had finally told him he couldn't do this alone.
"I don't know how to do that," he said finally. His voice cracked. "I don't know how to need people. I've been surviving alone for so long—"
"You're not alone anymore. That's the whole point." I crouched in front of him so we were eye to eye. "I'm not going anywhere. But I can't be the only person you allow in. It's not fair to either of us."
His throat worked. I watched him swallow.
"What if they can't help?" The question came out raw. Afraid. "What if I talk to them and nothing changes and I'm still—"
"Then we figure out the next thing. Together. With pack." I reached out, let my hand rest on his knee. Felt him shudder at the contact. "But you have to try. You have to let them in."
He didn't answer for a long moment.
When he spoke, his voice was rough. Angry. But not at me.
"I hate this."
"I know."
"I hate that you're right."
"I know that too."
His hand covered mine. Pressed it harder against his knee. The bond hummed between us—still hungry, still demanding, but steadier now. Like something had shifted into place.
"Fine," he said. "I'll talk to Cal. And Neal." A pause. "Maybe James."
"Good."
"But Lumi—" His grip tightened on my hand. His eyes burned into mine. "This doesn't mean I want you less. It doesn't mean I don't need you."
"I know."
"It means I need you so much it scares me." His voice dropped. "And I can't keep being scared. Not of this."
I turned my hand over. Laced my fingers through his.
"Then stop being scared," I said. "And start being pack."
Ivy found me in the quad.
I'd been sitting on a bench for twenty minutes, staring at nothing, trying to process what had just happened. Stone's memories kept flickering through my mind—the white walls, the restraints, the table—fragments that didn't belong to me but felt carved into my skin anyway.
"Hey." Ivy dropped onto the bench beside me. "You look like someone ran over your puppy. What happened?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
