16. Sloane #3
Kade looks like he would rather let me hit him than say what he has to say.
“I don’t have that kind of power. Recovering damaged files you handed me is one thing.
Breaking into every live camera system between here and every campus is another, and anyone who says they can do that cleanly is either lying or selling you a felony wrapped in hope. ”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” He stays crouched where he is, voice low and brutal with honesty.
“I can recover damaged files when we have the files.
I can trace a compromised device when I have the device or the account path.
I can preserve evidence, identify tampering, and give Zana material she can use without getting it thrown out.
I can't break into every camera system between here and every campus within driving distance and magically find her because you need me to.”
The room blurs. I hate him for saying it. I love him enough to know he's telling the truth.
Kade reaches into the hard case and pulls out another folder, thinner than Zana’s legal pads.
“What I can tell you is your phones were compromised.
Yours, Idris', and Theo’s. Not in a cartoon spy way.
A hidden reroute path tied through an app shell and device permissions.
It can redirect calls and messages to a controlled number without the user seeing the redirect.
It can filter what comes through. It can make a message appear like it behaved normally when it didn't.”
Idris' purr falters. Theo goes even stiller against him.
“She was calling,” I say, and the words barely carry. “On the campus footage. She had the phone to her ear.”
“She could have been calling you while your phone never showed the call.” Kade doesn't soften it.
“Same for Idris. Same for the house line if that was routed through the same account structure.
Some texts may have been intercepted. Some replies may have been spoofed.
I can document enough to support tampering, but her old number is dead now.
Fixing this doesn't give us her new one.”
“She thought we weren’t answering.”
Kade’s eyes hold mine. “Yes.”
The word takes whatever is left of my spine.
I sit back on my heels with my hands hanging uselessly between my knees and understand, finally, exactly how Garrett killed us without putting a hand on her throat.
Callie called into a silence he built. Then she came home to a door he’d already barricaded with a carefully placed trap of paperwork, police, and my stolen name.
She screamed for me outside the house while the phones and cameras failed exactly where Garrett needed them to, and every pretty word he’d ever spoken did its job.
Theo makes a tiny sound at last. It isn't a word.
Idris bends over him, kissing his hair, his temple, the place near his bite while the purr starts again.
“I have you,” Idris murmurs, rough enough that I know he's talking to both of us and not enough to either.
“Theo, breathe with me. Good. Again. I have you.”
Zana closes her laptop with deliberate care.
“I'm filing tonight. Kade, I need declarations on the phone compromise and footage recovery by morning. Idris, I need Theo’s written statement updated only if he can do it without harm.
Sloane, I need you alive and not arrested.
That isn't a joke. You are named in fraudulent paperwork, and Garrett benefits from every uncontrolled move you make.”
“I hear you,” Idris says when I cannot.
Kade rises slowly. “I’ll stay in the building until the declarations are drafted. I’ll have Skylar review anything that touches police procedure before it goes to Zana.”
I should thank him. I should say something to Zana. I should get off the floor. Instead, I reach for the edge of the table and miss it the first time because my hand is shaking too hard.
Idris moves then. He eases Theo into the chair with care, murmuring something too quiet for me to catch.
Theo’s fingers clutch at his sleeve until Idris bends and presses his mouth to Theo’s forehead.
“I’m getting him up,” Idris tells him. “Then I’m coming right back for you. Stay where I can see you.”
Theo nods once, eyes glassy and unfocused.
Idris comes to me and kneels. He doesn't tell me to stand. He slides one hand under my arm and the other around the back of my neck, bringing his forehead to mine until the storm in him meets the wreckage in me.
“Come with me,” he says.
“I don’t want to think.” The words fall out of me before I know I'm saying them. They sound small. They sound like something Theo might say in the dark. I hate that, but I need it, and Idris' hand tightens at my nape like he knows both things are true.
“It’s okay,” he says. His voice breaks on the edge and then steadies because he's Idris and he will hold a roof over us with his bare hands if he has to. “We’ve got you.”
The attached bedroom is through the private door behind Idris' office, a narrow room with a bed large enough for three if no one needs space, a dresser with spare clothes, and blackout curtains that make it possible to forget what hour it is. We have slept there in pieces over the last few weeks, Theo curled between us after meetings ran too late or after going home felt like walking back into Garrett’s mouth.
It smells like us now. Smoked cedar burnt thin by grief, black tea and rain, cardamom bruised by too many hard nights.
Theo follows because Idris keeps one hand out behind him until Theo takes it. Zana and Kade stay in the conference room. I don't look back. I can't carry one more witness.
Inside, Idris closes the door, then turns the lock with a soft click.
The sound should scare me after everything locks have done to us.
It doesn’t. Idris is between me and the world.
Theo is beside me, trembling but present.
Callie is somewhere beyond all of us, still there, still waiting without knowing we are finally looking at the right lies.
Idris faces Theo first. “Sweetheart,” he says, soft and firm at once. “Let me help you out of these clothes.”
Theo’s throat works. His eyes flick to me, then back to Idris. “Sloane?”
“I’m right here,” I say, and the words come out rough. “I’m not going anywhere, Star.”
Idris undresses Theo gently, not like undressing is an invitation to hurry, but like each layer has become too heavy for our Omega to carry.
Shoes first. Socks. Hoodie. Shirt. He pauses at every shift in Theo’s breathing, murmurs when Theo’s hands start shaking too hard to help, and folds every piece of fabric over the chair instead of dropping it.
Theo lets him, face wet, purr absent but body leaning toward the care.
“On the bed,” Idris tells him. “Where Sloane can see you.”
Theo obeys because he chooses to, crawling onto the mattress and settling near the pillows with Callie’s sweater still caught in one hand.
He watches me with eyes too devastated for words.
I stand in the middle of the room because moving requires a future, and I can't see past the sound of Callie screaming my name.
Idris turns to me.
I look at his hands because looking at his face will undo me before he gets close enough to catch it.
He takes my jacket off first, then my shirt, then kneels to unlace my shoes with a reverence that makes shame twist hot under my ribs.
I should be helping. I should be checking on Theo.
I should be calling another campus, another hospital, another station, another office that will tell me they can't give me information about Calliope Monroe.
Idris rises and cups my face. “Sloane.”
“I was inside.” My voice breaks on the words. “She was outside, and I was inside.”
“I know.” He kisses my forehead, then my temple, then the place beneath my eye where tears have finally started again. “I know, Alpha. Come to bed.”
He finishes undressing me with the same deliberate care he gave Theo.
My belt first, then the button and zipper of my pants, his fingers steady even when mine won't stop shaking.
He eases the fabric down my legs and helps me step out of it.
Socks last. When I'm bare he doesn't look away.
He simply rests both hands on my hips and waits until I meet his eyes.
“Color,” he says quietly.
“Green.”
Theo is already on the bed, bare and trembling, Callie’s sweater still clutched in one hand.
He reaches for me the moment Idris guides me forward.
Idris settles me on my side facing Theo, then stretches out along my back so I'm held between them. The mattress dips under our combined weight. Theo’s free hand finds my chest. Idris' mouth brushes the nape of my neck.
Theo kisses me first.
It is soft at the start, almost hesitant, the press of his mouth careful against mine.
I make a low sound, half groan, half broken breath, and something in him answers.
The kiss deepens. His purr starts in uneven bursts against my lips, fragile and determined.
I answer as best I can, one hand sliding into his hair while the other rests over the soft place where his heart is racing.
Idris' hand strokes down my side, over my hip, then lower. He reaches for the small bottle on the nightstand. The first touch of slick against me is cool. I tense. He stills immediately.
“Breathe for me,” he murmurs against my shoulder. “I’m right here. Theo is right here. You don’t have to hold anything up right now.”