Chapter 30
THIRTY
SOL
She’s awake.
I know before I see her because the house feels different when she is. Less hushed. Less cautious. Like something that’s been holding its breath has finally decided to inhale.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs longer than necessary, listening.
There’s movement above. Soft footsteps. A voice – hers – low, steady, unmistakably present. Not the thin, fever-worn sound from before. This one carries weight.
When I reach the top, her door is open. Light spills into the hallway. Koa’s scent lingers – warm, grounding, threaded with something alert. Kai’s is sharper, brighter, the restless edge unmistakable.
They’ve both been in here recently – probably the voices I heard – but they aren’t here now.
Interesting.
I file that away and step closer.
She’s propped up in bed, tray in front of her, colour back in her cheeks. Hair loosely braided, eyes clear. Too clear. She looks like someone who’s already taken stock of her surroundings and decided not to show her hand.
Her gaze lifts and catches on me immediately.
Something in her settles.
It’s subtle. A fractional drop of her shoulders. A quieting of whatever tension she was carrying.
My jaw tightens.
“That’s enough excitement for one morning,” I say, holding up my hand to show her its contents. Medication. A fresh glass of water is already on the bedside table – probably thanks to one of the twins.
She arches a brow, lips twitching. “You say that like I’ve been throwing a party in here.”
“I say it like you’ve overdone it,” I reply evenly. “And recovery isn’t optional.”
She accepts the pills without argument, watching me over the rim of the glass as she swallows them down. There’s awareness there. Curiosity. Calculation.
“You stayed,” she says.
Not a question.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“As long as necessary.”
Her lips twitch. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
She studies me for a moment longer, then nods, as if that satisfies something internal. It shouldn’t, but it does.
“How do you feel?” I ask.
“Like I’ve been hit by a lorry,” she says. “But a polite one.”
I almost smile. Almost.
“You should still rest.”
“I’ve been resting,” she counters. “For days.”
“And you’ll keep doing so.”
She tilts her head. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
“I have to be.”
Her gaze sharpens at that. “Why?”
Because if I stop being sure, this situation spins out of control. Because you don’t know what you’re waking up into. Because I do.
Instead, I say, “Because someone has to keep things from escalating.”
A beat.
“Escalating how?” she asks lightly.
Careful. She’s probing.
“Too much stimulation,” I say. “Too soon.”
She hums. “Funny. I was just thinking things finally feel quieter.”
That shouldn’t irritate me.
It does.
“Your body doesn’t always tell you the full story,” I say. “Especially when it’s been under strain.”
“And your solution is to manage it for me?”
“For now,” I say. “Yes.”
Her eyes flick to the doorway. To the hall beyond.
“Does that include deciding who comes into my room?”
There it is.
“While you’re recovering,” I reply. “Yes.”
She holds my gaze, unblinking. I don’t look away.
Eventually, she exhales. “You’re very good at making control sound like kindness.”
The words land closer to the bone than I’d like.
“I am kind,” I say quietly. “When it matters.”
She considers that, then nods once. “I believe you.”
I don’t know why that feels like permission – and I don’t like that it does.
I leave her to rest, closing the door with deliberate care.
In the hallway, the twins are waiting.
Not together. Not facing me. But close enough that their combined presence presses against my senses.
Kai leans against the wall, arms folded, posture loose in a way that fools no one. Koa stands near the bannister, gaze steady, unreadable.
“You’ve both been busy,” I say.
Kai grins. “You’re welcome.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I reply flatly.
“It doesn’t have to be,” Koa says. “But she’s awake, Sol. Properly.”
“I’m aware.”
“And she’s observant,” Kai adds. “In case that wasn’t already obvious.”
My eyes flick to him. “You didn’t antagonise her.”
“Depends what you mean by antagonise.”
Koa sighs. “She noticed our scents.”
That lands hard.
“Both of you?” I ask.
“Yes,” Koa says. “The differences.”
I close my eyes for half a second.
This is moving too fast.
“You should have told me sooner.”
“We told you as soon as we saw you. It just happened,” Koa replies evenly.
Kai shifts. “She’s not scared.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s safe,” I snap.
Silence.
Then Koa says, “She calms around you.”
I open my eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You ground her,” he continues. “We all see it.”
“That’s…a coincidence.”
“It’s not,” Kai says, irritation bleeding through. “And you know it.”
I step closer, letting a fraction of my control slip into my posture. “Enough.”
They fall silent, but the tension doesn’t dissipate.
“I will handle this,” I say. “All of it.”
Kai scoffs. “You’re already in too deep.”
That’s the problem.
I leave them there and retreat to the quiet of my office, closing the door behind me. Only then do I allow myself to sit at my desk, elbows braced on my knees, head bowed.
If Lani is an omega – and every instinct in me says she is – then her awareness will only sharpen. Her body will keep cataloguing us whether she wants it to or not.
And if she realises the truth before we shut this down—
The damage won’t be theoretical.
I’ve managed worse situations than this. Controlled men more volatile. Protected people who didn’t want saving.
But none of them made my instincts scream this loud.
None of them settled simply because I was near.
And none of them looked at me like they were already starting to understand the rules of a game I never intended them to learn.
This needs to end.
Or be contained so tightly it never gets the chance to explode.
The problem is, I’m no longer sure which option keeps her safer. And I don’t trust myself to be neutral where she’s concerned.