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Neither of them answers immediately. And then something slots into place. A morning weeks ago. Piers across the breakfast table, both of us catching something while I stood there frying bacon. It was warm and sweet and there, and then suddenly it wasn’t. Gone before either of us could place it.

"That morning," I say slowly. "At breakfast. Piers and I smelled something and then it was just… gone." I look at Leith. "You."

Leith looks back at me. Steady. Immovable. Saying nothing, because Leith never says anything he hasn't decided to say.

I turn to Finn instead. He exhales. Nods once. "We met her at a club." His voice is quiet, careful, like he's feeling out each word before he puts weight on it. "She was bright, and fun, and—"

"And the exact omega to draw you out," I say.

Finn looks at me. Then he nods.

I sigh. Long and slow. I look back at her. Finn had called her Cammie, though her license says Camelia. She’s lying pale and still in a bed she shouldn't be in, alone in a way she shouldn't be. Two members of my pack know her, but they aren’t her match.

Finn lowers his forehead to the mattress beside her. Still holding her hand. His shoulders drop like something in him has let go.

I watch him for a moment. Then I take a breath. "I have to go," I say. "For a little while. The chief of surgery heard about my incident in the OR. He's been asking for me. I wanted to wait until someone got here."

Leith meets my eyes. "Go," he says. "We'll stay. No one will touch her."

I nod. They aren't her matches. I know that now. I feel the absence of it the same way I feel the presence of it when it comes to me. But I also know what I'm leaving her with. Two men who already care about her in whatever way they're capable of. They’ll keep her safe.

I cross back to her bedside. Sit on the edge of the chair. Take her hand the way I've been taking it since I got here, careful of the IV-line. Careful of everything. "I'll be back," I tell her quietly. "You're in safe hands." I pause. "You probably know that already."

I press my lips to her hand. Then I set it down gently against the blanket and stand before I can talk myself out of leaving.

The elevator is slow and I'm alone in it, which gives me approximately thirty seconds to think about things I don't have answers to yet.

Piers. That's the thing I keep circling back to as the floors tick by. Leith's right. Piers has been insistent on us having a scent match. He’s pushed Finn’s research harder than anyone. Hell, it was Piers who insisted Finn work with Graham when he was first approached about the project.

He's wanted this for all of us. Not a match for one. For the pack. Complete. That's the word he's never said out loud but never had to. And this isn't that. She's mine, not theirs, and I don't know yet what she is to Piers.

But she is mine. I know it the way I know anything that matters. I don’t need facts or proof. I can feel it, deep inside me. Her scent found me through two rounds of neutralizer in a sterile operating room and my alpha didn't hesitate for a single second. Piers wouldn't make me walk away from that. I know him well enough to be certain of that much. He'd give this a chance. He'd have to.

The elevator opens and I step out into the corridor.

Finn wanted to bring her to us. Even before today, even before any of this, he'd been thinking about it. Wanted to introduce her. That’s significant. Finn doesn't let people in. The fact that she'd already found her way into some corner of him before any of us even knew her name is important. And if Finn, then almost certainly Leith, even if Leith would rather chew through a wall than admit it.

So. If Piers matches, we figure it out together, the way packs are supposed to. And if he doesn't?

I push through the door to the administrative corridor.

One problem at a time.

sixteen

Finn

She's so still. That's the thing I can't stop coming back to. Cammie is motion. Earrings swinging and shoes kicked off and a finger crooked at you like she already knows you're going to follow.

I have her hand in mine. I don't remember deciding to take it. My forehead is pressed to the mattress beside her and I'm just breathing. Trying to be motionless so I don’t jostle her.

Behind me, Leith is furious. His woodsmoke scent has gone acrid in the way it only does when he's past anger and into something colder. I know his fury the way I know everything about him: completely, without needing him to say a word. He's not pacing. He's not loud. He's sitting in the chair by the window with his phone, jaw set, thumbs moving. Probably texting every contact he has at the police department. Channeling it into something he can actually do, because Leith cannot fix her and that is the thing that will eat him alive.

I close my eyes. I've thought about her every day since that morning we said goodbye. Small things, mostly. Something funny a student said in class that she would have laughed at. An art book I found that would look perfect on her coffee table. Every night I'd open my phone and type something out. How was your day. Or I heard this and thought of you. Once, embarrassingly, just hi.

I never sent any of them.

I knew why. Leith had said it plainly, the way he says everything. Piers wants the scent match. She's not ours. So, I'd type the message and look at it and close the app and put the phone face down on my nightstand like that would help. It never did.