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I hold up a hand to stop him. I need a second. I turn my focus back to the fire, swiping a thumb over my bottom lip while my mind spins. After a few moments, I pull my gaze from the flames and meet Riven’s.

“The Gate. It’s the ley lines.”

He nods enthusiastically. “I knew it. I knew the ley lines had something to do with it. But I didn’t think—Fates, that means if the Gate opens…”

“We have no fucking clue what’s on the other side, Riv,” I snap. “It could be something, or this could all be bullshit.”

I shake my head. “Why now? You and I have been around for a long fucking time. Why have we never heard of this Gate until now?”

Riven shrugs, picks the book back up, and flips through the pages. “No idea. Just because we haven’t known about it doesn’t mean it’s untrue, or hasn’t always existed. No one understood Gravity ‘til Newton, but that didn’t stop shit from hitting the ground when it was dropped.”

I snarl and reach for the stupid journal, but he yanks it away before I can touch it.

“This is just one example. An example, I might add—” he pins me with a look, “that someone wanted you to fucking find. How long have you assholes lived in this place, hmm?” He looks around him with exaggerated movements.

“Two hundred years? Longer? And in the last forty-eight hours, you’ve found multiple items when you needed them that have led us to answers we’ve been looking for.”

“Debatable on the needing them part, but I take your point,” I mutter.

Riven grabs his suit jacket from the back of a chair. Tucking the journal under his arm, he gathers the rest and gives me that signature soul-sucking smirk.

“I’m going to let you sit on all this for a while, because honest to the gods, you look like you’re going to cry. I’m going to take these,” he holds up the rest of the journals, “back to Redmark. Who knows what other shit is in here now that you’ve bothered giving them to me.”

I get another unimpressed look when I do nothing but roll my eyes.

“Take a shower.” He all but orders me. “Drink some blood because you look like shit. Talk to your fucking packmate like a real man instead of cosplaying an emotionally stunted broody antihero in a shitty Wattpad.”

That shocks a laugh out of me. “Vae loves those Wattpad stories.”

”That does not at all surprise me,” he laughs. Then, more seriously, “Get your shit together, Daxen. I’d hate to punch you again when I drop by tomorrow.”

He is halfway out the door before he hesitates and spins back to me.

“Oh, and another thing. My bracelet doesn’t work on your Omega. No matter what she says, it doesn’t react. Thought you might want to know.”

With that, he leaves, letting the door click shut behind him.

I tunnel my hands through my hair. I’m not even going to touch on the last fun fact he threw at me, but… fuck. Maybe he’s onto something. Maybe I need to go shower this day away, then sit down with Vae and actually talk to him.

Riven’s right about one thing. We’re both using unhealthy coping mechanisms. It’s past time we stop acting like teenagers too afraid to admit we have actual emotions.

I take Riven’s advice. Drink a few bags, pour another glass of whiskey, take a long shower, and try to wash away the stress of the day—the tension, worries, and regrets.

I don’t have much luck with the regrets. Those seem to be sticking around for a while.

Now I’m lounging in our pack’s personal den, nursing a glass of watered down booze. The damn ice melted a half hour ago, but I don’t feel like exchanging it for a new pour. The place is quiet. Silas and Gav are out on patrol, Riven is gone, and the staff are all sleeping over at the compound.

I assume the Omega is sleeping, too. At least, she better be. Now that I’ve showered I have no plans to reapply descenter again tonight.

The door creaks open behind me, but I don’t bother turning around. I already know who it is by their scent.

Crushed black pepper, old leather, and wild clove. It rises to mix with mine—cedar, smoke and cold stone—perfectly, blending the way only the scents of a Fated pack can.

It is how we knew, all those centuries ago, that we were meant to be packmates. Like a Fated Mate Bond, but brotherly rather than romantic.

And Fates… I miss the comforting scent of my pack around me. Our wing in HQ still smells like a blend of the three of us. It’s the only place that does.

I wonder how weird it would be if I tore through Caelan’s room for dirty laundry and shove it between the couch cushions so his scent doesn’t fade.