26. Stone
Chapter 26
Stone
W e sit in silence, listening to the sounds drifting from the kitchen. The clink of plates. Cabinet doors opening and closing. Finn’s voice, lighter than I’ve heard it in…I can’t remember how long. My fingers dig into the leather armchair as he laughs at something—an actual laugh, not the careful one he’s been using with us lately.
Across from me, Jax sits unnaturally still, his jaw working. Only someone who knows him well would notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch against his thigh. Ren hasn’t even bothered trying to sit. He paces behind the couch like a caged tiger.
“Someone should be in there,” he says, voice low enough that it won’t carry to the kitchen. “What if she does something?—”
“She won’t.” I cut him off before he can finish the thought. Before he can voice the fear we’re all fighting—that the terrified omega might hurt our Finn. “You saw how she looked at him.”
Like he was salvation itself. Like he was the only safe thing in a world full of threats. The memory of her wide eyes and trembling form makes my chest ache. What did they do at that Academy to make her so afraid ?
The sound of running water makes us all tense. Dishes being washed? Or…
“If she tries to run…” Ren’s voice holds a growl.
“Then Finn will handle it.” Jax’s tone brooks no argument, though his foot is now tapping an unsteady rhythm that might leave a hole in the floor. “We have to trust him.”
Trust him. Yes. But it’s so hard to just sit here when every instinct screams to protect, to guard, to go in there.
A soft laugh drifts from the kitchen—not Finn’s this time. Higher, sweeter, though still hesitant. All three of us freeze, straining to hear.
“…can’t believe you actually…” Her voice is barely audible, but something in it makes me stir. That scent from earlier floods my memory—honey and vanilla.
Ren’s pacing stops abruptly. When I glance at him, his nostrils are flared, pupils dilated as his throat moves. He’s remembering it, too.
“Don’t.” Jax’s warning is barely a whisper. “We’re not discussing that. Not now.”
Not while she’s so frightened. Not while Finn is being protective. Not while everything feels so precarious. But we all know what we scented. All recognize how impossible it should be.
The sound of butter hitting a hot pan makes my stomach growl, reminding me that none of us have eaten. We’d been too worried about Finn, about the strange omega he was harboring, about what it all meant.
“He’s happy.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “Listen to him.”
We all do, their hearts no doubt clenching as hard as mine at the sound of Finn explaining his “perfect flip technique” with an enthusiasm we haven’t heard in months. Maybe longer.
“When’s the last time…” Ren starts, then trails off. We all know what he means. When’s the last time Finn sounded so…free?
The cheese hits the pan with a sizzle, and Finn’s delighted, “ See? Perfect!” carries clearly to us. My muscles tense, wanting to go to him, to bask in that joy we’ve missed for so long. Beside me, Jax shifts in his seat, a tiny movement that betrays his own struggle.
“Something’s wrong with us,” Ren says suddenly, stopping his pacing. When we look at him, for the first time in what feels like hours, the rage in his eyes is gone. Now he looks troubled. “Our omega is in there, happy for the first time in…and we’re out here feeling like we’re being punished.”
“We’re not being punished,” Jax says, but there’s uncertainty in his tone. “Finn’s just…”
“Protecting her,” I finish quietly. “From us.”
The words hang heavy in the air. Because that’s what hurts the most, isn’t it? That Finn feels he needs to protect someone from us. That he doesn’t trust us with this fragile, frightened creature who smells of sunshine and honey and…
No. Not thinking about that scent. Not now.
Another laugh from the kitchen, this one deeper—Finn again. “No, no, you have to press down harder than that. Here, let me…”
The sound of movement makes us all tense. Are they touching? How close are they standing? My fingers dig deeper into the leather as I imagine Finn guiding her hands, showing her how to press the sandwich properly. The domesticity of it aches somewhere deep in my chest.
It’s not natural, this easy companionship between them. Every instinct I have, everything I know about omega dynamics, says they should be circling each other warily at best, hostile at worst. Omegas are territorial, protective of their alphas, their space, their position in the hierarchy. But Finn…Finn’s acting like he’s found a long-lost sibling rather than a potential threat.
It’s exactly the opposite reaction I thought he would have. And now, that bitter taste of guilt lingering at the back of my throat increases at the thought that all along, instead of hiding Hailey in that cabin and trying to figure things out on my own, I could have brought her here, to the house, and we could have all done this together.
“I can’t just sit here,” Ren growls, resuming his pacing with renewed intensity. “This is ridiculous. We should be in there. We should be?—”
“What?” Jax’s voice is sharp. “Forcing our way in? Scaring her more? Making Finn…”
He doesn’t finish, but we all hear it: Making Finn pull away from us completely.
Because that’s the fear, isn’t it? That we’ve already damaged something precious. That our omega—our bright, fierce, loving Finn—has been pulling away for months because of us . And now this strange, broken omega appears and suddenly he’s laughing again, but not with us. Never with us anymore.
A clatter from the kitchen makes us all jerk toward the sound. A dropped utensil, nothing more, but the spike of protective instinct is immediate and overwhelming.
“Oops!” Finn’s voice, still light. “Don’t worry about it. Should’ve warned you that pan was hot.”
“I’m sorry, I—” Her voice trembles slightly.
“Hey, no. None of that. Look, not even a mark. And this just means I get to show you my signature flip again. Watch this time—it’s all in the wrist.”
How can he do that? Pretend he doesn’t know we’re out here, being ripped apart? My heart clenches. I don’t blame him—can’t blame him, not after everything. But a thought I don’t want to consider rises in my mind: that maybe the distance between us and our omega runs deeper than I realized. This easy affection he’s showing her, this lightness in his voice—it’s like looking through a window into what we used to have, what we’ve lost somewhere along the way.
Their exchange draws me to my feet before I realize I’m moving. Three steps bring me to the kitchen doorway, though I’m careful to stay just out of sight. Jax makes a warning sound, but I hear him rise, too. Even he can’t resist the pull anymore.
From this angle, I can just see them through the doorway. Finn stands at the stove, his body angled protectively toward the smaller omega. She’s pressed against the counter, shoulders hunched, but her eyes…God, her eyes are fixed on Finn like he’s the sun itself.
Just like that first night in the cabin, when she’d looked at me with such desperate hope before terror took over. Before I’d failed her by leaving her there. By not explaining. By…
“Stone.” Jax’s warning is barely a breath, but I realize I’ve moved closer to the doorway. I have to force myself to step back.
“Did you know,” Finn’s voice carries clearly now, “that grilled cheese doesn’t actually exist in most other countries? At least not like this. They’ve got cheese toasties and melts, but this ?” A dramatic gesture I can’t quite see. “This is pure American comfort food at its finest.”
A soft sound that might be a giggle. “Is that why you like it so much?”
“Caught me.” Finn’s laugh holds such warmth. “Though usually it’s just for myself when…” He trails off, and that pain in the center of my chest grows deeper. What was he going to say? When what? When we’re not there? When he’s alone?
“When you need comfort?” Her voice is so soft I almost miss it.
A pause. “Yeah.” Finn’s tone has changed, grown serious. “Sometimes you just need something that feels like…like home, you know?”
The silence that follows feels heavy with meaning. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes against the ache in my chest. When did our home stop feeling like home to him?
“I…” Her voice wavers. “I don’t know what that feels like.”
My eyes snap open, meeting Jax’s across the hall. The pain in his expression mirrors what I’m feeling. Even Ren has gone still, his usual anger replaced by something raw and wounded.
“Well,” Finn says, and there’s a fierce protectiveness in his voice that makes my instincts heighten, “maybe it’s time you found out.”
I have to move. Have to walk. Have to do something besides stand here listening to our omega offer another omega the safety and comfort we should be providing. And yet, I can’t leave.
The smell of melting cheese and butter fills the air as I lean against the wall, unable to move away. Jax and Ren have given up any pretense of returning to the sitting room, both now hovering silently in the hallway with me. None of us speak. We just listen.
“These are done perfectly,” Finn’s saying. There’s the sound of a spatula scraping against the pan, then plates being moved. “Here, these three are for you.”
A pause. Then, so very quietly I almost miss it: “All…all of them?”
“Of course.” Finn’s voice is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. Something that makes that pain in my chest increase even more. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“But…” Her voice trembles slightly. “That’s…that’s too much. I shouldn’t—I mean, I don’t want to be greedy.”
Beside me, Ren makes a sound low in his throat. When I glance at him, his hands are clenched into fists, that earlier rage seeping back into his eyes. Why that simple statement has suddenly put him from zero back to one hundred is lost on me.
“You’re not being greedy,” Finn says firmly. “You’re eating what your body needs. Here, sit down.”
The scrape of a bar stool. A longer pause.
“Isn’t…” She seems to hesitate before continuing. “Isn’t the cheese expensive? I don’t want you getting in trouble…”
Finn snorts a laugh. “It’s just cheese. It’s fine.”
There’s silence, and I wish I could make my presence known and look in on them.
“I used to…” Her voice is still barely above a whisper. “At home, before…before everything. I would sometimes make toast with cheese when Ma was…when she was busy. But I had to be carefu l not to use too much. She said cheese was expensive and I was already eating more than a proper girl should.”
The growl that escapes me is involuntary. Jax’s hand lands on my shoulder, grip painfully tight—whether to steady me or himself, I’m not sure.
“And at the Academy?” Finn asks carefully.
Another pause. Longer this time. “We…they had scheduled meals. I tried not to eat all my portions. I didn’t want to upset Widow.”
“Widow?” Finn asks, voice still casual. He’s good. I have to give him that. Our own little investigator. A spark of pride almost makes me puff up my chest. Those true crime shows he likes to watch were coming in handy.
“My alpha trainer. She would get angry.”
“She?” Finn’s voice sharpens slightly, though I doubt she notices. Female alphas are as rare as male omegas—and one is involved in whatever hell this “Academy” is? I file that detail away. It’s another piece to the puzzle, another thread to follow.
“Yes, she…” A small, shaky breath. “She said I was…that I needed to learn control.” The words come out rushed, like she’s ashamed. “So I learned to eat less. To be…better.”
My jaw clenches. A female alpha. An Academy. And systematic starvation of omegas. My mind is already mapping out contacts to call, favors to cash in. Whoever this Widow is, wherever this Academy is hidden—we’ll find it. And when we do…
The sound of Finn’s voice pulls me back from thoughts of violence. “Well,” he says, voice gentle but firm, “Widow was wrong. And I’m making you another sandwich.”
Something shatters in the kitchen—glass or ceramic hitting tile. Finn curses under his breath.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly. “Just knocked over a glass. Here, stay there—I’ll clean it up.”
But we all heard it in his voice. The rage. The horror. The same emotions churning in my gut as I process what she’s saying. What she’s revealing in those careful, hesitant words.
“I should help,” she says quickly. “I’m good at cleaning up messes. At the Academy, my cell was always spick and span and?—”
“Your cell ?” Finn’s voice gets low before he clears his throat. I can almost see him force a smile onto his face. “You stay right there and eat your sandwiches. All of them.” A pause, then lighter: “And tell me what you think. I need to know if my reputation for perfect grilled cheese is deserved.”
The sound of sweeping. Then a tiny intake of breath that might be her taking a bite.
“Oh,” she breathes, and something in that soft sound makes my throat tight. Like she’s never tasted anything so good. Like simple melted cheese and butter is some kind of miracle.
“Good?” Finn asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“I…yes. It’s…” Another small sound, half pleasure, half distress. “But I shouldn’t…I mean, eating this much is…”
“Come on,” Finn chuckles. “It’s practically in our blood to eat everything tasty, especially during our heats. You must know how important it is to keep our strength up when?—”
The silence that follows is deafening. Even from here, I can smell how her scent changes—confusion mixed with something like shame.
“Hailey?” Finn’s voice has gone careful. “You’ve…you’ve had heats before, right?”
The scent of her distress fills the kitchen.
“Oh! No biggie, that’s okay,” Finn rushes to reassure her. “That’s nothing to worry about. We’ll figure that out later. Right now, this sandwich is calling your name.”
A moment passes.
“Maybe I shouldn’t.” Her voice is so tiny it’s almost inaudible.
“Why not?” Finn sounds like he moves closer to her .
“They said eating too much makes us fat and ugly and no alpha would want a pig for a?—”
The broom clatters against the floor. Even from here, I can smell the spike in Finn’s scent—sharp with anger.
“ Who told you that?” His voice is carefully controlled, but we can all hear the rage underneath. “This Widow? Someone else at the Academy?”
“The…the handlers. The betas who…” She stops, and I can picture her shrinking in on herself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about it. They said we should never?—”
“Hailey.” Finn’s voice gentles immediately. “You can talk about anything you want here. Anything at all. No one will punish you for it. I promise.”
A shaky breath. “But…but your alphas…”
“Are not like that,” Finn says firmly. “They would never…they’re nothing like what you’ve known.”
Silence follows Finn’s words. In it, I hear all our failures. Because we are nothing like what she’s known, but we still managed to terrify her. Still failed to show her she was safe.
“They…” Her voice is so small. “The handlers at the Academy, Widow made them watch us eat sometimes. Said she needed to monitor our…our food behavior. Make sure we weren’t being gluttons.”
Something metal hits the counter hard—Finn setting down a pan, probably. His scent spikes again with anger.
“And if they thought you were eating too much?” His voice is carefully neutral in a way that makes my skin crawl. I’ve never heard him sound like this before.
A longer pause. “They would make us…there were consequences. Extra training sessions. Or sometimes they’d restrict our food the next day. To teach us control.” Her voice drops even lower. “The handlers said it was for our own good. That no alpha wants an omega who can’t control their base urges.”
Ren moves suddenly, taking two steps toward the kitchen before Jax and I can grab him. We pull him back, but not before a low growl escapes him.
In the kitchen, everything goes still.
“It’s okay,” Finn says quickly, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to Hailey or us. “You’re safe here. No one is monitoring you. No one is going to punish you for eating.”
“But I heard…” I can almost hear the tremor in her voice. “Are they angry? Your alphas?”
“Not at you,” Finn says firmly. “Never at you. Here, take another sandwich.”
“But I still have two left.”
“And now you’ll have three. They’re getting cold, and cold grilled cheese is a tragedy I won’t allow in this house.”
A sound that might be a laugh, though it’s shaky. “You’re very…you’re different from the omegas at the Academy.”
“Oh?” Finn’s tone is light, encouraging.
“They were all so…quiet. Careful. The ones who’d been there longer, they never…” She stops, then starts again. “There was a girl who came in last year. She was in the cell across from mine. I heard her laugh at something once, during mealtime. They took her away for reconditioning and when she came back, she didn’t…she never laughed again.”
The wall creaks under my hand where I’m gripping it. Beside me, Jax has gone deadly still, his face a mask of controlled fury. Ren’s breathing has turned ragged.
“Reconditioning,” Finn says the word like it tastes foul. “What exactly did that involve?”
“I…” Her voice cracks. “They would put us in these rooms, with these…these collars that would shock us if—” She cuts herself off with a sharp intake of breath, her scent souring with remembered terror. “I can’t…I shouldn’t…”
“Okay,” Finn soothes immediately. “Okay, you don’t have to talk about that. Just eat your sandwich. Look, the cheese is still melty on this one. ”
The scrape of a plate being pushed across the table. Then quiet, broken only by small sounds of eating.
“Hailey,” Finn suddenly says, voice soft. “Do your parents know you went to that Academy?”
It’s a loaded question. If her parents don’t know, it means someone else arranged it. Someone with connections, with money, with the power to make an omega disappear. But if they do know…
“Yes,” she whispers. “Ma was…quiet about it. But Pa arranged everything.”
“Your parents sent you there?” Finn’s voice is carefully neutral again.
There’s no audible answer, and I assume she nods.
A bar stool scrapes against the floor—Finn sitting down, maybe. “Hailey, listen to me. You are not flawed. You’re not difficult or wrong or any of the things they told you. You’re…”
“But I am.” The words are whispered, but they burst out of her like they’ve been trapped too long. “I have no one and nothing and not even my own parents wanted me! Pa said—he said I was lucky anyone would take me at all. That I should be grateful someone was willing to pay money for me.” Her voice cracks on a sob. “At the Academy, I tried so hard to be good. To be small and quiet and everything an omega should be, but I kept failing and failing and—” She draws in a shuddering breath. “That master was the only one Widow said would want me. She said no one else would ever want an omega like me. That he’d give me purpose. That’s where I’d been going before?—”
Finn’s voice is deadly calm. “Is that where you were going? Before you ended up here?”
There’s a sniffle and I assume she nods again.
The sound that comes from Finn’s throat is pure pain. “Come here,” he says roughly.
Movement, then soft crying—muffled, like she’s pressed against him.
“Listen to me,” Finn says, voice fierce. “Everything they told you about what an omega should be? It’s lies. All of it. You’re perfect exactly as you are. You deserve to eat when you’re hungry and laugh when you’re happy and ask every question that comes into your head. You deserve to take up space in this world.”
“But alphas don’t want?—”
“The right alphas will want you exactly as you are. Trust me on this.”
Her crying grows harder, though she seems to be trying to muffle it. “I’m getting your shirt wet. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I?—”
“Shh. Let it out. You’re safe here. You can cry as much as you need to.”
She sniffles again. “I’m not crying to manipulate you, I promise. I’m not trying to control your alphas’ protective instincts.”
A sound escapes me before I can stop it—something between a growl and a whine. Because God, who told her these things? Who twisted every natural impulse into something wrong?
“Stone.” Jax’s voice is barely a breath, warning and understanding all at once.
But I can’t. I can’t just stand here anymore. Can’t listen to this without…without…
From our hiding spot, we hear movement in the kitchen. Footsteps. Finn’s voice, gentle: “Come on, I know exactly what you need right now. The sound system downstairs is much better than the one in the nest anyway.”
We scatter like startled prey, pressing ourselves into doorways and around corners. So much for alpha dignity. Through the gap, I see them emerge—Hailey still tucked against Finn’s side, her face buried in his shirt. He’s got one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, guiding her steps.
As they pass my hiding spot, Finn’s eyes meet mine for just a moment. The look he gives me is pure warning, though his voice remains soft as he speaks to Hailey about some movie he wants to show her.
They disappear down the hall toward the TV room. After a moment, we hear the soft whoosh of the couch cushions as they settle. Unable to help myself, I edge forward until I can see through the doorway.
Finn has situated himself in the corner of the sectional, and Hailey is curled against him like she belongs there, her head resting on his chest as he pulls a throw blanket over them both. Something in me tightens at the sight. It looks so natural, so right—our omega providing comfort and safety to this broken little thing who’s somehow worked her way under all our skins.
I have to step back; have to look away. My reaction to seeing them like that is…inappropriate to say the least. Given how fragile this situation is. Given how much trust we still need to rebuild. The hardness rising in my pants feels wrong.
“Stone.” Jax’s voice is barely a whisper. When I meet his eyes, I see my own struggle reflected there.
What are we supposed to do now?