Damn.Tobias has an eye for detail. He knows how to use light and shadow in a way I’ve never seen before. Every line, every frame seems to breathe. He doesn’t just take pictures—he sees people. Captures something living in them. Even the still photos seem to breathe, holding the essence of our home. The worn edges of the banister in the kitchen, the soft light touching the dining table as it comes through the windows, the steam rising from a chipped mug. Every single shot reveals things even I’ve overlooked. And the portraits too—they’re incredible. These people are my family, my pack. I’ve spent the last twenty-six years with them, yet Tobias makes me see them in a new way.
I’m in awe.
It kills me that he doesn’t have a way to use this gift anymore. It’s been the only thing keeping him from spiraling out of control. I’ve seen the way he turns his fear and panic into focus and clarity, both through the lens and here, in the post-imaging.
My fingers hover over the trackpad, my gaze drifting over to him again—blanket pulled to his chin, chest rising slow and even. Maybe I can help him find more of that security. Help him lean into his craft and keep him grounded. He’s got to be bored with taking a million photos around here, right? What if I found the right person to do it from afar? Tobias could use a pseudonym or something while working to rebuild what he lost.
Would he let me? Or would he think I’m going too far? I can see the guilt piling up with everything we do, like he thinks he needs to repay us or some shit.
He owes us nothing.
Decision made, I shut the laptop and settle back against the pillow. The house is quiet, only the faint tick of the heater and the wind scratching the windows. I’m just about to drift off when Tobias murmurs in his sleep.
I turn toward him, but he doesn’t stir. Maybe it was nothing.
A minute later, he does it again, only sharper. Then again, his voice rising into incoherent words. He stirs restlessly, breaths coming out in quick, short pants. His hands twitch like he’s fighting something off.
“Tobias,” I whisper. No response.
He jerks again, a strangled noise escaping his throat. I slide off the bed and crouch beside him, shaking him a little. “Hey. Toby, you’re okay. Wake up.”
He still doesn’t open his eyes, curling inward and gasping. “No. No!”
I shake him harder, then cup his face. “Tobias, wake up!”
He snaps his eyes open, looking around. When he sees me, he flinches away as if my touch burned him. His fingers curl around his wrists—around the damn scars—and my heart sinks.Fuck.He thinks he’s back there, doesn’t he?
I grab his wrists before he can fight me. “Hey,” I say firmly. “It’s just me. It’s Rowen. You’re in my room. You’re safe.”
I repeat the words until his breathing slows. Slowly, his eyes focus, and he comes back to me. “I—” He swallows hard. “I had a nightmare again, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. Looked rough.”
He slumps back, defeated and ashamed.
“Has it happened before?” I ask, though he’d saidagain,like this was a regular thing.
“Y-yeah. Every night since I got here. But it’s gotten worse since I found out… what I might be.” He shakes his head, as if still trying to clear the images. “Honestly, it’s not new, though. I’ve always had bad dreams. Side effect of growing up in chaos, I guess.”
Every night?Why hasn’t he said anything?
Exhaustion hums through the air like static.
“Can I sit with you?”
When he doesn’t refuse, I climb onto the beanbag next to him. Without thinking, I reach out. “Come here.”
He hesitates just long enough for me to wonder if I’ve crossed a line. Then he leans in, resting his head against mine. I wrap an arm around him.
“You’re safe with me, okay? Whenever you need to come in here, you can.”
He drapes an arm over me, but doesn’t relax, almost like he isn’t sure he should touch me.
His scent hits me, wrapping around me and seeping into my pores. I can’t describe it—only that it’s him. Warm and heavenly. My wolf lets out a soft, low whine. I force him to settle.I know. I need to keep him safe.
Pulling Tobias close, I fold my other arm around his middle. He curls against my chest.
“What if I’m like her, Ro?” His voice cracks on the wordher.
