A pause.
Heavy.
Final.
“I’m going to have to place you on probation until we figure out if you’re steady.”
Probation.
Fuck.
Elissa shifts beside him.
“Is that necessary?” she asks quietly.
Hunter dips his chin once.
Yeah.
It is.
Because I fucked up.
Bad.
Reg doesn’t say anything, but I can feel it—his worry, his frustration, his fear for me.
The Guard disperses slowly, tension bleeding out of the space as the immediate threat fades.
And I’m left standing there, stripped down to nothing but consequences.
“Come on,” Reg mutters, jerking his head toward his place. “You’re coming with me.”
I don’t argue.
Don’t have it in me.
His house is closer than mine anyway, and I don’t feel like walking all the way home in a fucking towel.
“Thank fuck you’re on Pride land,” he says under his breath as we walk. “You pull that shit on a normal street? We’d be having a very different conversation right now.”
No kidding.
Shifter hearing means everyone could hear him anyway, but I don’t bother pointing that out.
I just follow him inside.
He tosses me a pair of sweats. A T-shirt. Flip-flops.
“Thanks,” I mutter, dragging them on.
Gretchen appears like she’s been waiting for us, setting a mug of coffee down with a soft clink.
“Alright,” she says, hands on her hips, eyes sharp but not unkind. “What the hell was that?”
I scrub a hand over my face.
“I woke up alone,” I admit.
