Chase tells him.
I can't stay quiet. I keep jumping in, rushing ahead, filling in pieces before Chase has finished the last ones, and Alex keeps putting his hand up and sayingslow downand I slow down for approximately four seconds before I'm rushing again. Chase watches this with the expression of a man who has decided to let it happen. Alex watches me with an expression I've never seen on him before—like he's trying to keep up but also can't quite stop looking at my face while I talk.
Eventually he has the full picture.
He sits on the edge of the bed.
He doesn't speak for a long moment.
"The flag is gone," he says. Like he's testing the shape of the words.
"The flag is gone," Chase confirms.
Alex looks at his hands. The knuckles. The old scarring.
Then his face changes and I realize I have never seen Alex Castillo actually happy before. Not the complete kind. The kind that doesn't have anything underneath it except itself.
Chase clears his throat. "I'll give you two some space."
He picks up his jacket. Looks at me once, a look that might bewell done, and then he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Alex looks up at me.
I cross to him and he reaches for me, pulling me to stand between his knees, his hands on my waist, his face tipped up toward mine.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
"Alex—"
"I mean it." His voice is serious. The pack lead voice, the one that carries weight. "I know you said you choose us, but I want you to understand you have more options than you think. You can go anywhere. Do anything. I'll make sure it happens. Whatever you want your life to look like." His hands are steady on my waist. "You said once, when you were still at Ragon's, that you'd thought about asking the registry to let you live alone. Like they do for some special case omegas. Suppressants, substitute pack for heats. No claiming, no bonds. Just you." He holds my gaze. "If that's what you want, I'll make it happen. I'll make sure you get it."
I look at him.
Then I smile.
"Ask me how I know I'm sure," I say.
He blinks. "What?"
"Ask me."
He studies my face. "How do you know you're sure?"
"Can you smell me?"
He pauses. His nostrils flare slightly. "Yes."
"Does it smell different? Feel different?"
He freezes.
I watch him think about it. Really think about it. I watch him consider it with that deliberate focus I've come to recognize. The slight furrow between his brows, how his eyes go distant as he turns the question over in his mind.
Then his expression changes.
"Yes," he says slowly. "It's—" He stops. Starts again. "It's different."
"You didn't notice it before," I say.
