26. Milo
MILO
M ilo’s eyes opened slowly to the gray wash of dawn light stretching through the heavy curtains. His body felt unusually still, his limbs weighted with a phantom of sleep that didn’t quite want to let go. But his mind was already moving, pulling him back through the veil of the night before.
Willow .
He could still feel the burn of her anger, sharp and sudden. The way her voice had cracked with betrayal, the fire in her eyes when she realized the dreamscape wasn’t just a coincidence.
But that wasn’t what lingered.
What lingered was the way she had crawled toward him. The softness in her voice before the storm arrived. The tentative press of her body against his chest. The quiet ache in her kiss.
She came to me.
It hadn’t been his doing this time. He hadn’t reached for her—hadn’t pulled her through the bond. She’d called to him, even if she didn’t understand it yet. Something inside her had reached out in the dark, and that meant more to him than anything she could’ve said.
He laid a forearm over his eyes and exhaled slowly, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth .
There was hope.
She was still softening.
Milo sat up, the sheets falling away from his chest as he planted his feet on the cold wood floor.
Now that he was awake, the quiet of the morning wasn’t comforting—it was loaded.
Too quiet, like the hush that came before a firefight.
He rolled his shoulders, muscles tight from tension he hadn’t worked out in days.
Maybe he’d take it out on the bag later. Maybe the range.
As he stood, he moved through the motions of his morning routine with militant efficiency. Brushed teeth, cold water to the face, a clean black shirt pulled over his frame, jeans slung low on his hips. He strapped on his watch last.
But his mind wasn’t on the day ahead.
It was on McGarvey.
Milo didn’t trust a single fucking thing that came out of his mouth, and ever since their meeting at the docks, he’d felt something rolling in over the horizon. Something was coming, and Milo wasn’t going to be caught off-guard when it did.
He could feel it in his gut. McGarvey had his eyes on Willow.
And that terrified him .
His jaw clenched as he stared into the mirror, the lines of his face hard and shadowed. He had taken oaths in his life—some for his country, some for his brothers—but this one was more personal.
If McGarvey so much as breathed in Willow’s direction, Milo would wipe his pack off the map.
War was coming, whatever it looked like.
He would be ready.
***
Milo stalked downstairs, each step deliberate, soundless. His senses stretched wide, testing the air like antennae. No trace of her yet—his nose told him that much. Willow hadn’t come down. Her scent was still faint, dormant. Still upstairs.
But Titan?
Oh, he had been here.
There was the distinct tinge of unease in his scent. Not panic, not dread—just raw, simmering fear. Good. Milo wanted that. He needed Titan to be scared of him. It was a necessary step in his development. Fear created obedience. Obedience ensured survival.
In combat, hesitation got people killed. The quicker Titan internalized that truth, the longer he’d live. Milo knew the formula firsthand.
He had been scared, too.
Back when he was in basic, green and burning with adrenaline, he remembered the internal terror when his commanding officer barked orders. But that fear had sharpened him. Molded him into something leaner, faster, smarter. Eventually, it became understanding.
His commanding officers hadn’t been cruel. They’d just known the cost of failure.
Milo didn’t need Titan to like him. He needed him alive. If fear was the bridge that got them there, so be it. At the end of the day, Milo cared deeply for Titan. That was what made him tough on the kid.
Even if he was a fucking idiot.
He turned into the kitchen and caught Lachlan’s scent before he saw him.
Lachlan. That ever-present mix of antiseptic and exhaustion clung to the man like a second skin.
Milo rounded the corner and found him exactly where he expected—hunched slightly, one hand wrapped around a chipped mug, the other bracing himself on the counter.
His bright pink scrubs were wrinkled, the dark circles beneath his eyes bordering on bruises .
“Long night?” Milo asked, coming to stand beside him. He leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed.
Lachlan exhaled through his nose, then took a slow sip before answering.
“Five-hour surgery on a toddler. Defect in her heart. We got her through just fine, but…” He trailed off, shoulders sinking. “It always hits harder when they’re that small.”
Milo inclined his head, the tight line of his mouth softening slightly. He didn’t speak right away. There was nothing to say that would fix what Lachlan carried. He respected his friend’s strength, especially in the face of the heartache he so often faced in his practice.
They stood in silence, letting the weight of unspoken things settle between them. Lachlan nursed the last of his coffee, eyes distant, until finally he broke the stillness with a quiet observation.
“Don’t you think it’s strange that Jenner wasn’t at the meeting?”
Milo’s head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing. “How the hell did you know that?”
Lachlan just raised an eyebrow and gave a tired smirk. “Because if he had been, you would’ve bitched about him by now.”
Milo snorted, short and humorless. He exhaled through his nose and shifted his weight, running a hand through his hair. It was only because Jenner was a fucking weasel and deserved it.
“He’s McGarvey’s little bitch,” Milo then muttered, more to himself than to Lachlan. “Always behind him, waiting for his orders.”
“Exactly,” Lachlan said, voice low. “And he wasn’t present at a meeting with you?”
Milo’s brow furrowed. The thought itched in the back of his mind. Jenner was a predator, a knife that McGarvey wielded without a sound. If Jenner was missing, he wasn’t absent from the playing field. No, he was just up to something.
“You still in touch with that hacker?” Milo asked, his voice low, intent sharpening behind his eyes. An idea was burgeoning.
Lachlan glanced over. “The one that lives in the shipping container?”
“That’s the one.”
“I am. Why?”
“I want him to scrape every camera feed he can get access to—traffic cams, building security, anything with eyes. Have him scan for Jenner. I want to know what he’s been up to.”
Lachlan’s brow lifted, a flicker of caution passing through his eyes. “You want surveillance inside McGarvey’s territory? That’s risky business, my friend, after brokering peace.”
Milo pushed off the counter, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. His jaw flexed as he stared ahead, eyes hard with purpose.
“We don’t have a choice. Something’s coming, and if we don’t get ahead of it, she’s going to be the one who pays the price. I can’t let that happen. She doesn’t need to know the details—that’ll just scare her. We need to shield her from this entirely.”
He turned slightly, locking eyes with Lachlan.
“Whatever it takes, we lock this down. You hear me?”
Lachlan nodded once, quiet but resolute. “Yeah. I hear you.”
A voice cut through the tension like a blade—quiet, cool, edged with suspicion.
“Shield me from what?”
Milo stiffened, head snapping toward the entryway where Willow stood. He hadn’t heard her approach. Neither had Lachlan, judging by the jolt of his shoulders.
Milo’s mouth parted, but no sound came. For the first time in a long while, he was caught flat-footed—no plan, no deflection. Just a wide-eyed stare and a gut-deep realization that he’d been overheard at the worst possible moment.
Willow’s arms were crossed, her expression unreadable. But her stance was steel. She’d heard enough to know something was being kept from her. She wasn’t going to walk away quietly.
Milo exhaled as he prepped to face the fallout.
Of course she wouldn’t back down.
Not his mate.