8. Idris
Idris
We move into the kitchen before Sloane makes the call. Zana answers on the second ring, and the sound of her voice nearly makes Sloane come apart before she finishes saying my name. Sloane stands beside the kitchen island with Theo tucked against his side.
The page from Theo’s notebook lies between us, creased at one corner from Sloane touching it too carefully and then pulling back like the paper might burn him. Callie, you didn’t leave me.
I keep the phone on speaker. “Zana,” I say, and my voice sounds almost normal if no one knows me.
“Theo found Garrett’s phone. There were messages to Callie from Theo that Theo never sent.
Sloane sent a test text to Callie’s number, and Garrett’s phone received it.
We deleted the test message and put the phone back where he left it. ”
The silence on the other end of the line lasts long enough for Sloane’s arm to tighten around Theo.
Our Omega’s face stays pressed against Sloane’s shirt, but his eyes are open, wet and fixed on the notebook page.
His purr keeps catching, those small frayed bursts that sound like a body trying to soothe everyone with nothing left to spend.
“Do not confront Garrett about the phone,” Zana says. She sounds awake now, every edge sharpened. “Do not mention the test. Do not touch his device again unless there is immediate physical danger. You need independent confirmation through another channel before he knows you understand the reroute.”
Sloane’s head lifts, and the pain in his voice hits the pack bond before the words come out. “Another channel? He used Theo’s name. He used my baby’s phone. Callie is somewhere thinking we threw her away, and you want another channel?”
“I want something Garrett can't make disappear in the thirty seconds after you scare him.” Zana’s voice stays hard enough to hold him, and I hate that I'm grateful for it. “One of you needs to go to the police station tonight and confirm what reports are in the system. Ask for copies if they’ll give them. If they won’t, get names, case numbers, dates, and language.
We need to know whether anyone there spoke to Calliope or put anything in front of her. ”
Sloane is already reaching for the keys on the counter.
His scent breaks open, smoked cedar turning scorched, brown sugar burnt down to something black.
Theo flinches against him, and that is the only reason Sloane stops moving long enough for me to cross the kitchen and catch his wrist before he can close his hand around metal.
“You’re staying here,” I tell him, and he turns on me with his teeth bared, grief making a stranger of a face I love.
I step in before he can speak, take his chin in my hand, and put a purr into my chest that costs more control than I have to spare.
“Don’t argue with me, Alpha. I don’t need to lose another person tonight.
As much as someone’s face needs to be bashed in, it can’t be right now, and Theo needs your chest more than the police need your rage. ”
His nostrils flare. For one second, I think he might shove past me anyway, and some ruined part of me is ready to put him on the floor if that is what it takes to keep him from handing Garrett a feral bonded Alpha on a platter.
Then Theo’s fingers curl in Sloane’s shirt, and Sloane looks down.
Our Omega is shaking against him, eyes wide, mouth pressed tight around words that will hurt if we force them too soon.
Sloane’s hand falls away from the keys. He doesn’t look at me when he nods.
Zana exhales through the speaker. “Idris, you go.
If Detective Grayson is on duty, ask for him.
If he's not, ask for the supervisor on call and tell them your attorney needs the report language preserved.
Do not threaten anyone in uniform. Do not raise your Alpha register in the station.
Do not make them more afraid of you than they're of whoever built this.”
“I hear you,” I say, though I'm already putting on my coat with hands that feel too precise to belong to me. Sloane pulls Theo closer, pressing his face into Theo’s hair as if scenting him is the only thing stopping a scream.
I touch Theo’s shoulder before I leave, waiting until his eyes flick up to mine.
“I’m coming back. You stay with Sloane. You hear me? ”
Theo nods once. His lips part, and nothing comes out at first. Then he swallows, clutches Callie’s sweater with one hand and Sloane with the other, and manages, “Find out what she saw.”
The drive to the station happens through a city that has the nerve to keep moving.
Traffic lights change. People cross sidewalks with takeout bags and umbrellas.
A woman in a red coat laughs into her phone outside a closed café, and I hate her for half a breath with a cruelty that has nowhere to land.
Callie might have stood under lights like these tonight.
She might have walked past windows with her hand pressed to the bite on her shoulder, believing Sloane’s rejection was a matter of public record and mine was too cold to even need paperwork.
I park crookedly, fix it, and then get out. The station smells like wet wool, old coffee, disinfectant, and too many bodies trying to push fear into procedure. The desk officer looks up when I give my name, her expression changing in the small way people think Alphas will miss.
“I need to speak with Detective Grayson,” I say, setting my identification on the counter before she asks for it. “It concerns Calliope Monroe, Sloane Rivera, Theo Mehra, and the possibility that a report or restriction was entered using information none of us authorized.”
The officer’s hand pauses over the keyboard. “Are you listed as a party?”
“I'm a pack member and an affected resident. My attorney is Zana, and she's available by phone. Detective Grayson will understand why I’m asking for him.” I keep my hands flat on the counter, palms visible, my voice low enough that no one in the bullpen needs to turn toward me. “Please tell him Idris Ward is here.”
She makes the call. I stand beneath fluorescent lights and feel Sloane on the other end of the pack bond like a wound pacing a room.
Theo’s fear trembles beside it, small and persistent.
Garrett sits somewhere in our house, breathing air Callie should still have claim to, while I wait for a city employee to decide whether my grief has the right paperwork attached.
Detective Skylar Grayson appears from a side hall with his jacket off and his sleeves pushed to his forearms, and the look on his face tells me he already knows this night has teeth.
Kade’s Beta is leaner than I expect in person, tired around the eyes, his attention sharp enough to cut through the desk officer’s hesitation without embarrassing her for it.
“Ward?” he asks, already moving his gaze over my face, my hands, the set of my shoulders. “Come with me.”
He takes me into a small interview room and closes the door, but he leaves the blinds open. It is a courtesy and a warning at once. I respect him more for both.
“I’m going to tell you the cleanest version I can,” I say before he sits.
My hands stay on the back of the chair because sitting feels too much like accepting the shape of the room.
“Calliope Monroe is missing from every channel her pack has. Garrett Crane claimed he left our home to help her during a medical crisis involving our Omega. Tonight, we learned messages to Calliope were being routed through Garrett’s phone.
Theo found messages in his own name that he never sent. ”
Grayson’s eyes sharpen, but he doesn't reach for a pen yet. “You have the phone?”
“No. We put it back after confirming. If we take it now, he knows.” The truth tastes like metal. “I'm not asking you to move on that. I'm asking what was entered in your system with Sloane Rivera’s name on it.”
That gets the pen into his hand. He writes once, then turns to the computer built into the corner desk and starts typing. “Your attorney know you’re here?”
“Yes. She told me to ask for report language, names, dates, and anything connected to service.”
“She gave you the right shopping list.” Grayson’s mouth tightens as he works through screens.
The room fills with the muted clack of keys, and I grip the chair harder each time his expression changes by a fraction.
He finds something, reads, scrolls, reads again, then stops moving.
“I’m going to need you to stay very still for a second. ”
I breathe through it and nod. “Tell me.”
“There is a report involving Calliope Monroe and the residence associated with your pack.” Grayson keeps his eyes on the screen instead of me, which may be kindness or strategy.
“There is also a temporary protective heat-space restriction entered on behalf of Theo Mehra. Sloane Rivera is referenced as the bonded Alpha requesting enforcement support.”
“That never fucking happened.” My voice drops low enough that the glass in the door hums. Grayson’s eyes lift, and I force my scent back under my skin with enough violence that my throat aches. “Sloane didn't file against her. Theo didn't ask for protection from Callie.”
“I hear you.” Grayson’s voice changes, quieter now, but no less firm. “I’m telling you what’s in front of me, not what I think happened.”
“She saw it?”
His pause is its own answer. He turns the monitor slightly, not enough for me to read everything, but enough for me to see a page full of formal language and names that belong to us wearing intentions we never gave them.
“The service note says she was advised at the sister campus admin wing. Campus security witness, officer present, time stamped midafternoon. Later that evening, there’s a responding entry at the house saying she returned and attempted entry despite notice. ”