Adrian wasn’t a fan of the idea, but Moore needed time to rest; time to not be on alert if Charles needed something. He needed a good nap, as did I. But my needs could wait.
When the door was shut almost all the way, leaving me alone with Charles, I opened the book and began to read where I assumed he left off, or as close to it as I could.
My voice stayed low, steady, as I read each word aloud. The story filled the room, soft and slow, and as I turned the page to begin the next chapter, Charles shifted closer. It was subtle—tentative. Like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to move. Or maybe he was waiting for me to tell him not to.
I let him come closer. Let him choose.
Halfway through the second chapter, his hand settled on my leg. Light. Barely there. Then an arm curled around my waist, holding me in place.
Not tight. Just enough to say,don’t go.
So I stayed. And kept reading. Because right then, that was the only thing that made sense.I kept reading, voice low and steady, letting the rhythm of the words fill the room.
Charles stayed close, curled against me, his breathing slow but uneven. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t moved much, just rested his hand on my leg and held on like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Then the door creaked. Soft. Barely there.
I didn’t stop reading. Didn’t look up. But I felt Charles tense against me, just slightly. Footsteps followed—quiet, careful.
Adrian.
I didn’t need to see him to know. He had a way of entering a room without disturbing it, like he understood how fragile everything was.
He didn’t speak. Just settled nearby, close enough that Charles would feel him. And I saw it—how Charles’s shoulders eased, just a little. How the grip around my waist softened, not in fear, but in comfort.
Adrian didn’t have to say a word. His presence was enough. And for the first time in hours, I felt like maybe Charles wasn’t entirely lost
By the time I finished the third chapter, both boys were asleep. Adrian had a slight snore passing his lips, one arm wrapped around Charles, holding him gently.
I sat there, just watching them.
The last couple of days had been full of all sorts of emotion. Not just me, but for everyone.
Adrian bounced between being next to Charles every possible second, to wanting to threaten me about his friends' care and how I wasn’t doing something right. It took Moore more than once to put a stop to it, but I didn’t blame Adrian.
The bruises along Charles’s back would take weeks to fade. Some of the cuts had scabbed over, but the dried blood still clung to his skin like a reminder.
The mark on his shoulder was what haunted me most. That V—red, inflamed, carved deep like someone wanted it to last.
Moore said it was healing. I didn’t believe him. It looked like something a monster would leave behind.
Deliberate.
Personal.
I didn’t know if it was a client who did it, or the owner of Lockswell himself. But whoever it was, they meant to brand him. And none of it was okay.
Not the pain.
Not the silence.
Not the way Charles still flinched when I got too close
I slowly pulled myself away from Charles, his hold loose. He didn’t stir, didn’t move, as I made my way off the bed.
I pulled a blanket up over both Omegas, letting them rest as long as they could. Then, I went in search of Moore.
I found him in the kitchen, looking through my cupboards.
