51. Jax
Chapter 51
Jax
T he road stretches out in front of us, a winding ribbon of asphalt cutting through the dense forest. The early morning light filters through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the SUV’s dashboard. I keep my hands steady on the wheel, my grip firm but not tight, though every muscle in my body feels like it’s coiled, ready to spring. The cabin of the vehicle is quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavy, charged with things unsaid.
Stone sits in the passenger seat, his injured arm resting carefully in his lap. His profile is sharp in the pale light, his jaw set as he stares out the window. I know he’s still thinking about last night, about the mercenaries breaking into our home, about how close we came to losing everything. I don’t blame him. I can’t stop thinking about it either.
In the backseat, Finn and Hailey sit close, their shoulders brushing. Hailey’s head rests against Finn’s shoulder, her eyes closed, though I can tell from the tension in her body that she’s not really asleep. Finn’s thumb strokes absent patterns on the back of her hand, his gaze fixed on the passing trees, but there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes my chest ache. He hasn’t said much since we left the house, but the weight of his silence is louder than any words could be.
We’re all carrying the aftermath of last night in our own way. The house—the one place we’d all worked so hard to make a sanctuary—was shattered, and it’s not just the literal damage that lingers. The scent of blood, the sound of breaking glass, the knowledge that enemies who knew exactly how to find us had come prepared to take what was ours—it’s a wound that won’t heal easily.
But for now, we have a destination. Ren’s safe house.
The coordinates he left were scrawled hastily on a scrap of paper, as if he hadn’t planned to tell us about the location at all. But Ren’s plans always run deeper than they seem. The further we drive, the more questions knot in my mind. How long has he had this place? How long has he been watching us, waiting for the right moment to step in? And why didn’t he tell us before?
I glance at Stone. He hasn’t said much since we left either, but I can feel his tension pulse through our bond, the weight of his thoughts pressing against my own. “You okay?” I ask low, low enough that it doesn’t carry to the backseat.
Stone doesn’t look at me, but his lips press into a thin line. “I’ll be fine,” he says, tone clipped.
I don’t push him. I know better than to pry when he’s like this. Instead, I focus on the road ahead, the trees growing denser as we climb higher into the mountains. The winding road seems endless, each curve taking us further from the chaos we left behind. In the rearview mirror, I can see Hailey finally sleeping in the backseat, her head lolling on Finn’s shoulder.
The safe house comes into view just as the sun begins to rise fully, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink. It’s not what I expected. Ren’s always had a taste for the finer things, and I’d half-expected some sleek, modern fortress, all glass and steel. Instead, the house is a sprawling log cabin, nestled into the hillside like it’s been there for decades. The wood is weathered, the roof sloping gently under a thick covering of moss. A wide porch wraps around the front, and beyond it, the forest stretches endlessly in every direction.
The place feels…isolated. Secure. And, despite everything, it feels strangely peaceful.
“Homey,” Finn murmurs from the backseat, his voice tinged with quiet surprise.
Stone lets out a faint huff, his first real reaction in hours. “Not exactly what I pictured for Ren.”
“Me neither,” I admit, pulling the SUV into the gravel driveway. The tires crunch loudly in the stillness as I bring us to a stop. “But maybe that’s the point.”
We sit there for a moment, none of us moving. The weight of the past twenty-four hours settles heavily in the quiet cabin of the SUV, and I can feel the hesitation radiating from all of us. The house might look safe, but after what we’ve been through, that word feels like a lie.
Finally, I push open the driver’s door, the icy mountain air biting against my skin. “Come on,” I say, glancing back at Finn and Hailey. “Let’s get inside.”
We gather what few belongings we managed to bring—two hastily packed duffels and the emergency kit from the trunk. Finn helps a still-groggy Hailey from the backseat while Stone grabs the bags, refusing help despite his injured arm. Gravel crunches under our feet as we make our way to the front door, where I fumble with the key Ren pressed into my hand before he left.
I push the heavy wooden door open, revealing an interior just as surprising as the exterior. It’s warm and rustic, with vaulted ceilings and wide windows that let in the morning light. The furniture is sturdy and well-worn—plush armchairs, a massive leather couch, a dining table big enough to seat a pack twice our size. A stone fireplace dominates one wall, and shelves lined with books and supplies run along another.
Stone walks in behind me, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, his instincts on high alert. Finn and Hailey follow, their movements slower, more hesitant. Finn’s fingers brush against Hailey’s as they step inside, and I watch the way she leans into him, seeking his quiet strength.
“Ren’s been busy,” Stone mutters, his gaze lingering on the weapons cabinet tucked into a corner near the fireplace. It’s locked, but the sight of it is enough to make my stomach twist.
“He always is,” I reply, my voice quiet.
Finn’s gaze sweeps over the space, taking in the little details—the stack of folded blankets on the couch, the basket of firewood by the hearth, the faint scent of sandalwood and smoke that lingers in the air. “It doesn’t feel like him,” he says softly. “It feels…like someone else.”
Hailey doesn’t say anything, but I can see the flicker of unease in her eyes. She’s been quiet since we left the house, too quiet, even quieter than her norm. I hate having to bring her here. This is another new location. After six years at that wretched Academy, our home had been the first safe place she’d been in years. I’ll just have to make her feel safe here, too.
“Let’s get you two settled,” I say, gesturing toward the wide staircase that leads to the second floor. “There’s enough space here for all of us. Pick a room, get some rest.”
“I’ll check the perimeter,” Stone says, already heading for the back door. His injured arm hangs stiffly at his side, but I know better than to argue with him. He needs this—needs to feel like he’s doing something. Like he’s keeping us safe.
The upstairs hallway stretches before us, wood-paneled walls glowing amber in the morning light. Four bedrooms branch off the main corridor, each door standing open like an invitation. But it’s the master suite at the end that draws both Finn and Hailey, as if pulled by some invisible thread.
The room is large. In the center is a king-sized bed dressed in quilts that look soft enough to sink into. Wide windows frame the endless sea of evergreens beyond, and something in my chest loosens at the defensive advantages of the elevation. A sliding glass door opens onto a private balcony, and I note with approval the subtle security features Ren has incorporated—reinforced glass, multiple locks, clear sightlines in all directions.
Finn moves through the space with the quiet grace that’s uniquely his, fingers trailing along surfaces as if testing their reality. He pauses at a cedar chest beneath one window, lifting the lid to reveal stacks of blankets and throws.
“There’s more in the hall closet,” I tell him. After the violence of last night, I understand his need to make this strange place feel like home. It’s what he does—transforms spaces into sanctuaries for all of us.
“This place feels…empty,” he murmurs, pulling out a particularly soft-looking blanket. “Too quiet.”
Hailey gravitates to the bed, sinking onto its edge with exhausted relief. Her honey-vanilla scent has gone soft and drowsy, but there’s still an undercurrent of anxiety that makes my protective instincts surge. When Finn joins her, their shoulders brushing, that anxiety noticeably dims.
“You should both rest,” I say, fighting the urge to gather them close, to wrap them in my scent until all traces of fear are gone. “Stone and I will secure the perimeter, stock the kitchen. We’ll be right downstairs if you need anything.”
Finn nods, but his movements are restless as he begins arranging the blanket he’s holding around Hailey’s shoulders. There’s something almost compulsive about the way he tucks it around her, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was…but no. It’s just Finn being Finn, taking care of his packmate—his mate —after a traumatic night.
“The light’s good here,” he says absently, glancing at the windows. “We could put some plants on that shelf, maybe. Make it feel more like…” He trails off, and I catch the flash of grief in his eyes. The plants he’d cultivated at home. One of those fuckers had tr ampled all the saplings in his effort to get up to the kitchen window.
Fuck.
“Finn, you don’t…” I release a breath, gaze shifting to Hailey. Maybe she can sense Finn’s growing distress, too, because she’s dipped her face into his neck, the skin-on-skin contact being exactly what he needs. “You don’t have to worry about any of that. We’re not staying here for long.” I swallow a lump down my throat. Because we can’t stay here for long. Finn needs his nest. “I promise you.”
He gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. One that makes me want to march across the room and pull him into my arms. Make it all better.
Gulping again, I take a deep breath and leave the room, leaving them to settle. Padding downstairs, I find Stone already organizing supplies in the kitchen. He’s moving stiffly, favoring his injured arm, but his eyes are sharp when they meet mine.
“They okay up there?” he asks, voice rough with concern.
“As okay as they can be.” I start helping him unpack, noting the way Ren has stocked the kitchen with all our usual brands. “Finn’s already planning where to put plants.”
Stone’s lips quirk slightly. “Of course, he is. But we’re not staying here long.”
“No, we’re not,” I agree, pulling out boxes of Finn’s favorite tea from one of the bags. In our rush to leave, I’d still made sure to grab them.
The silence stretches between us as I arrange the tea boxes on the counter, desperately trying to create some semblance of normalcy. Stone leans against the cabinet, his presence heavy with unspoken words. Neither of us wants to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
I busy myself with filling the kettle, the clink of metal against metal too loud in the quiet kitchen. Upstairs, I can hear muffled sounds of Finn and Hailey moving about .
Stone shifts behind me, and I know he’s listening to them too. The weight of everything unsaid makes the air feel thick, suffocating. We need to talk about it—about last night, about what happens next, about how to keep them safe. But the words stick in my throat.
The silence that falls between us is weighted with everything we’re not saying. Stone’s scent has gone sharp around the edges—anger, frustration, and beneath it all, the sour tinge of fear. I know he’s still replaying last night in his mind: the sounds of struggle, the unmistakable copper tang of blood in the air.
Sighing, I move from the kettle and start to unpack the emergency kit we keep in the SUV, laying out the contents on the farmhouse-style table that dominates the dining area. First aid supplies, emergency rations, a satellite phone—and, apart from all that, extra ammunition for Ren’s gun. The gun itself is tucked into the waistband of my jeans, a constant, uncomfortable reminder of how quickly our lives have shifted.
“We’re gonna need to restock,” I say, just to break the silence. “There’s a town about forty minutes east of here, according to the details Ren left.”
Stone nods, his jaw tight. “I’ll go later. After I do another check of the perimeter.”
“Your arm?—”
“Is fine,” he cuts me off, but there’s no heat in it. Just exhaustion. “It’s fine, Jax.”
I don’t push it. Instead, I move to the refrigerator, which hums quietly in the corner. Opening it reveals another surprise—it’s fully stocked. Fresh vegetables, eggs, milk, packages of meat wrapped in butcher paper. In the freezer, meals in containers labeled with Ren’s handwriting: beef stew, chicken soup, lasagna.
“Ren’s been busy,” I murmur, taking in the carefully organized shelves.
Stone peers over my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck. “You think he cooked those? ”
I grunt. “Probably not.”
Stone hums a laugh in his throat. “He’s always been a planner. Always thinking ten steps ahead.”
“And apparently never sharing those steps with the rest of us,” I add lightly, but familiar frustration colors my tone.
Stone just grunts in agreement as he reaches past me to pull out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. “Might as well make use of it. Finn hasn’t eaten since yesterday. Hailey either.”
The normalcy of the gesture eases something tight in my chest. This is what we do. We take care of each other. We survive. We keep going.
I step back to give him space, watching as he moves around the unfamiliar kitchen with the same efficient grace he displays in our own. He finds a cast-iron skillet in a cabinet below the stove, a mixing bowl in another, moving quiet and sure even as he favors his injured side.
“How bad is it, really?” I ask as he cracks eggs into the bowl.
His hands pause for just a moment before continuing their work. “I’m alive.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Stone glances at me, his golden eyes unreadable. “It hurts like a son of a bitch, but I’ll heal. We’ve got bigger problems.”
The bacon sizzles as it hits the hot pan, filling the kitchen with its savory aroma. My stomach growls in response, reminding me that it’s been hours since I’ve eaten anything, too. The mundane sound startles a laugh from Stone, the first real one since the attack.
“Sit,” he orders, nodding toward the chairs at the farmhouse table. “You’re no good to anyone if you collapse from hunger.”
I obey, settling onto a chair that creaks beneath my weight. From here, I look up at the small window at the back of the cabin. The forest stretches endlessly out there, a sea of evergreens climbing up the mountainside. It’s beautiful in a wild, untamed way—and utterly isolated. Perfect for a safe house. Perfect for hiding .
“Do you think they’ll find us here?” It’s a question that’s been gnawing at me since we fled our home.
Stone doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Not immediately,” he says, flipping the bacon with practiced ease. “This place is off-grid. No paper trail leading here. Ren seems to have made sure of that.” He pauses, considering. “But eventually? If they want her badly enough? Yeah, they might.”
The thought sends ice down my spine. “They were prepared, Stone. Combat gear and everything.”
“I know.” His voice is grim as he cracks more eggs directly into the pan, where they bubble and hiss in the bacon fat. “These weren’t street thugs. They were professionals.”
The implications hang heavy between us. What we witnessed last night goes far beyond what we’d imagined the Academy to be.
“We’ve been thinking too small,” I say, the realization hitting me with full force. “This isn’t just some underground omega trafficking ring. The resources needed to train and equip a team like that…”
“Means the Academy has serious backing,” Stone finishes, his scent souring with displeasure. “Government connections maybe. Or corporate. Deep pockets, at the very least.”
I think about how efficiently they breached our home, how coordinated their movements were. “We’re up against something much bigger than we thought.”
Stone nods grimly, sliding eggs onto a plate. “Which means getting Hailey out of their radar and keeping her safe just got a lot more complicated.”
Before I can respond, a floorboard creaks overhead. Both of us freeze, instinctively tilting our heads to track the sound. Soft footsteps cross the bedroom floor, followed by the gentle opening and closing of a door. The bathroom, most likely. After a moment, water begins to run through the pipes.
“Finn,” Stone says softly.
I nod, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. It’s a comfort, being able to track our pack mates by sound and scent, knowing exactly where they are in relation to us. Even in this strange place, that much hasn’t changed.
Stone returns to his cooking, sliding perfectly cooked eggs onto plates with a practiced flip of the wrist. “He’ll be hungry when he comes down,” he says, as if reassuring himself. “He always is after…”
After trauma. After fear. After watching his home being violated.
“Just have to hope this doesn’t trigger his heat early.”
I freeze.
Fuck. He’s right.
Our main goal right now is to keep our omegas as calm and protected as we can. Not only for their sakes, but for ours.
I rise from the chair, moving to the cabinets to search for mugs. “I’ll finish making that tea. The good stuff.” It’s a small thing, but Finn’s face always softens when we remember his preferences. The little rituals that say: we see you, we know you, we care.
The upper cabinets are well-stocked with dishes and glassware, more evidence of Ren’s thorough planning. I find a set of earthenware mugs that remind me of ones Finn picked out for our kitchen last spring—heavy, handmade things in shades of blue and green. The similarity can’t be coincidence. Ren has always been observant, always noting the small details that others miss.
As I fill the mugs with hot water, Stone arranges breakfast on plates, adding a few slices of toast he’s managed to make while I wasn’t looking. The fragrance of food and brewing tea fills the kitchen, transforming the strange space into something almost homey. For a moment, I can pretend we’re just on vacation, enjoying a quiet morning in a mountain retreat.
The illusion shatters when Stone winces, his injured arm bumping against the counter as he reaches for the salt.
“Let me look at that,” I say, moving toward him. “The bandage probably needs changing. ”
He starts to protest, but I cut him off with a look.
His shoulders drop slightly, a heavy breath leaving his frame. “If I let you look at it, will you stop bugging me about it?”
I don’t answer. I know what he wants to hear, but what’s the point of lying?
He releases another heavy sigh. “Fine.” Setting down the spatula, he heads over and sits on one of the chairs. I retrieve the first aid kit from the table and set it beside him, snapping on gloves before I carefully peel back the bandage on his upper arm.
The wound is angry and red, though thankfully showing no signs of infection. It’s a serious injury, one that would have most people in a hospital bed. Instead, Stone’s been here frying eggs and bacon.
“Thank God it’s not worse,” I murmur as I clean the wound with antiseptic.
Stone hisses through his teeth but doesn’t pull away. “Yeah.”
My fingers move with a confidence born from years of dealing with gym injuries—torn muscles, sprains, the occasional bad fall during a challenging workout. Our fitness business has given us plenty of practice with first aid, though nothing quite like a gunshot wound. Still, the principles aren’t so different—clean, protect, support.
Just as I’m securing the bandage, the water pipes groan again, signaling the end of Finn’s shower. Stone and I both glance toward the ceiling, then at each other. There’s worry in Stone’s eyes, the same concern that gnaws at my own gut.
“He held it together last night,” Stone says quietly. “Better than I expected.”
I finish with the bandage and begin to pack away the supplies. “He’s…he’s always been good at loving with everything he’s got.”
“Always.” Stone’s voice is rough with something like regret.
The admission hangs between us—like an acknowledgment of how we’ve treated Finn since the accident. Protecting him, sheltering him, keeping him in the dark about so many things. All with the best intentions. All with love. But still, maybe, a mistake.
“We need to tell him the truth,” he says finally. “About everything.”
My jaw tightens. “Not yet. Not when he’s still processing last night.”
“Fuck,” Stone whispers under his breath.
Before I can respond, footsteps on the stairs draw our attention. Finn appears in the doorway, dressed in clothes that must have come from the dresser upstairs. They fit him well enough—a soft sweater that hangs a bit loose on his frame, jeans that are cuffed at the ankles. His gray eyes take in the scene before him, lingering on Stone’s fresh bandage, on the breakfast spread, on the steaming mugs of tea.
“You’re cooking,” he says to Stone, his voice carefully neutral.
Stone nods, rising from the stool to flip the last of the bacon. “Figured everyone could use some food.”
“You didn’t have to. I could have.”
Stone shrugs. Winces. “Thought you needed the rest.”
Finn hesitates in the doorway for a moment before entering the kitchen. He moves with the smooth grace he always has, but I see the caution. The carefulness that’s become characteristic in his gait since the accident, as if he’s constantly having to think about his balance. The scars hidden beneath his clothing are a map of that night—the night that changed everything. The night our bond changed forever, though he doesn’t know it.
He slides onto a chair at the table, accepting the mug of tea I push toward him. His fingers curl around the warmth, and for a moment, he just breathes in the steam, eyes closed. The familiar ritual seems to center him.
“Hailey’s still asleep,” he says after a moment. “She…it took her a while to settle.”
I nod, understanding what he’s not saying. Nightmares. Panic. The aftermath of violence is never easy, especially for an omega .
“Let her rest,” Stone says, sliding a plate in front of Finn. “There’s plenty of food when she wakes up.”
Finn stares at the plate for a long moment, as if surprised by the normality of eggs and bacon in the midst of everything that’s happened. Then, with a small nod, he picks up a fork and begins to eat. His movements are measured, controlled, but he’s eating, and that’s a good sign.
We settle into an uneasy silence, the only sounds the scrape of forks against plates and the occasional creak of the cabin settling around us. Through the window, sunlight peeks through the leaves and a bird sings on a branch near the window.
“This place,” Finn says eventually, breaking the silence. “How long has Ren had it?”
It’s a good question—one we’ve been wondering ourselves. “We don’t know,” I admit. “He never mentioned it before.”
“It doesn’t seem like him,” Finn observes, echoing our earlier thoughts. He gestures around the rustic kitchen with his fork. “All this…wood. Nature. He usually prefers steel and glass and city lights.”
Stone makes a noncommittal sound. “Ren’s always been full of surprises.”
“And absences,” Finn adds, a hint of bitterness coloring his tone.
The tension in the room thickens. He’d left again just shortly after the attack. Had he gone to ward off another threat? Or was it simply because of what he’d done to Hailey?
“He’ll be in touch,” I say, though I’m not entirely sure I believe it. “He always is, eventually.”
Finn just hums in response, returning his attention to his food. There’s a new guardedness to him since last night, a wariness that makes my chest ache. For years, he’s been the heart of our pack, the one who softens Stone’s edges and calms Ren’s restlessness. Seeing him shut down, even slightly, feels like losing something precious .
“I need to check the perimeter,” Stone announces, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He rises, depositing his empty plate in the sink. “Make sure everything’s secure.”
“I’ll come with you,” I say immediately. I can’t continue to let him patrol alone in his injured state.
Stone starts to argue, then catches the look in my eye and relents. “ Fine . But Finn stays inside. Doors locked.” His tone leaves no room for discussion.
To my surprise, Finn doesn’t protest. He just nods, looking tired. “I should be here when Hailey wakes up, anyway. She might…” He trails off, but we all understand. She might panic in a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar scents.
I hesitate, not wanting to leave Finn alone either, but knowing Stone shouldn’t be out there by himself. “We won’t be long,” I promise. “Just a quick sweep of the immediate area.”
Finn waves us off, already gathering the dishes. “Go. I’ll clean up.”
The domesticity of the gesture, so normal in the midst of our upended lives, makes something twist in my chest. I want to pull him close, to bury my face in his neck and breathe in the comforting scent of sage and rain. To remind myself that despite everything, he’s here, he’s safe, he’s still part of us.
But Stone is already heading for the door, and the moment passes.
Outside, the air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow. The elevation here is higher than we’re used to, the oxygen thinner, making each breath feel slightly inadequate. Stone leads the way down a well-worn path that circles the property, his stride purposeful despite his injury.
For several minutes, we walk in silence, each of us scanning the forest for any sign of intrusion, any hint that we’ve been followed. But there’s nothing—just the rustling of leaves, the occasional call of a bird, the soft crunch of pine needles beneath our boots .
“He’s different,” Stone says finally, his voice low. “Since last night.”
I don’t pretend to misunderstand. “Wouldn’t you be? Our home was invaded. He was threatened. He had to watch you get shot.”
Stone shakes his head. “It’s more than that. It’s…” He struggles to find the words, which is unusual for him. Stone has always been the most articulate of us, the one who can dissect a situation with surgical precision. “When I saw him with that bat, looking like he was ready to take on an army…that was the old Finn. The one from before.”
Before the accident. Before everything changed.
I know exactly what he means. For a moment, we’d both glimpsed the omega we first fell for—fierce, protective, unafraid to stand his ground. The one who challenged us as much as he cared for us, who never let us get away with our alpha bullshit.
“And then there’s Hailey,” he adds quietly. “The way he is with her…”
“They’re mates,” I mutter. Stone’s scent sharpens with something complex.
We’d both felt it even before Dr. Greene confirmed it. While we marked Hailey with our scents, there was the unmistakable shift in Finn’s scent when Hailey had trembled against him. The way their pheromones had blended into something new and undeniable. A mating bond, fragile and new, but already forming.
I release a breath. Straighten my shoulders. “It doesn’t change how he feels about us.”
I want to believe it, but…I don’t.
Stone gives me a sidelong look. “Doesn’t it? You heard what she said. About him wanting to leave, to protect her from our mess.”
The memory sends a cold pang through me. The words had been like a knife to the gut, all the more painful for being completely understandable.
“He wouldn’t leave us.” Even to my ears, I sound unsure .
Stone stops abruptly, turning to face me. His amber eyes are intense, his scent a storm of emotions. “Wouldn’t he? If he thought it was the only way to keep her safe? If he thought we were lying to him, keeping secrets?” He turns in a slow circle, eyes darting to the surrounding forest, leaves crunching beneath his boots. “Fuck, Jax. We are keeping secrets. Big ones.”
I can’t argue with that. The whole truth about the accident. The real reason we’ve been so protective, so withdrawn while still so afraid of losing him. We’ve kept so much from him, believing it was for his own good.
“He deserves to know,” he continues. “About everything. About the bond.”
I release a heavy breath, shoulders slumping now. “Yes, I know we need to tell him. But the time couldn’t be worse right now.” I release a heavy breath. “It could hurt him, Stone. Make him pull away even more.”
“Then that’s his choice.” Stone’s voice is firm, and pain flashes in his eyes. “He deserves to have all the information to make that choice. We can’t keep…We can’t keep doing this.”
For a few moments, I say nothing. What can I say.
He’s right.
Fuck.
“After things settle down,” I finally manage. “After we’re sure it’s safe, that those mercenaries aren’t going to find us here. Then we’ll tell him.”
“Soon, Jax. We can’t wait another two years.”
My throat tightens, gaze shifting from his.
We continue our patrol in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. The forest around us is peaceful, showing no signs of disturbance. No broken branches, no footprints, no unfamiliar scents. Just wilderness, stretching in every direction.
When we complete the circuit back to the cabin, I pause, facing Stone. “One more thing.” I pitch my voice low. “About Hailey.”
He tenses, not sure what’s coming. “What about her? ”
“She’s pack now.” My gaze locks with his. “Whether she ends up staying with us or going with Finn…she’s pack. We protect her like our own.”
“Of course,” he nods. “She’s one of us.”
I nod, too. Satisfied, we turn toward the cabin. When we open the door, we spot Finn moving around the kitchen, a slight figure in borrowed clothes, setting things in order. Something in my chest aches at the sight—at how natural he looks here, adapting to yet another upheaval with that quiet resilience that has always been his hallmark.
“Come on,” Stone says. “Let’s get in there before he decides to rearrange the entire kitchen.”