31. Sloane #2
Ordinary things are beginning to grow around the wreckage, and I don't want the old silence between my brother and me to poison them.
“I’m here for her,” I say. “I’m here for Theo. I’m here for Idris, even when he’s being infuriatingly calm about things that deserve broken furniture. I’m trying to be here for you too, Dash. I don’t know what that looks like yet.”
His eyes hold mine. “It looks like telling me before you break something. It looks like letting me love her without treating every touch like theft. It means both of us remember she isn’t responsible for turning our damage into something polite.”
“That sounds exhausting,” I admit, and the corner of his mouth moves.
“It probably will be. She’s worth the work.”
I don't have to think before answering. “Yeah. She is.”
The kitchen doorway darkens before either of us speaks again.
Idris stands there with Callie’s empty tea mug in one hand and his phone in the other.
His shirt is wrinkled where Theo must have grabbed him earlier, and his hair is less controlled than usual, which tells me the day has worn on him more than he wants anyone to see.
His gaze moves from Dash to me, then back again.
“Do I need to break up a possible fight,” he asks, calm enough to make the question dangerous, “or did we make up?”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, though the words carry no heat.
Idris crosses the kitchen and bends to press a gentle kiss to the top of my head. The tenderness should embarrass me in front of Dash, yet it only makes my eyes burn. I lower my gaze until I can breathe around the feeling while Idris' hand settles at the back of my neck.
“So we made up,” he says.
Dash watches us with something complicated in his expression. He lets himself see how Idris touches me and how I lean into the contact for half a second before straightening again. The room shifts another inch toward something I can't name yet.
“Callie still asleep?” Dash asks, turning his attention toward the living room.
“For now,” Idris says as he sets her mug beside the sink. “Theo is curled around her, and she hasn’t moved except to put her hand in his hair. His temperature is elevated, though the spike hasn’t opened fully.”
“He was sweeter today,” Dash says, his voice taking on the careful focus he uses when he's trying to learn something important. “His scent didn’t feel distressed. His body seemed like it was getting ready.”
Idris nods. “That was my read too. I don’t think we have days before the next serious spike. We may have hours or a day, depending on how settled he stays.”
The thought of Theo tipping closer to heat tightens my grip on the counter. “He needs us ready.”
“He needs us ready, Callie needs us honest, and Garrett needs to stop being treated like a future problem.” Idris lifts his phone slightly.
“Zana is calling in six minutes. Kade sent a cleaner timeline on the rerouted calls and the first device logs. It isn’t enough for the full strike yet, though it gives us enough to start building the record around Callie’s current situation before Garrett decides to stop pretending he’s calm. ”
The stiffness in Idris' voice tells me how much rage sits beneath the strategy. I usually let him turn himself into polished steel while I guard the edges, but the memory of Callie asleep in the next room keeps me from allowing that old pattern to settle without question.
“Then Callie gets a summary in the morning,” I say. “She stays asleep tonight, and she wakes up with the truth waiting for her. We aren’t having conversations about her that turn into decisions around her.”
Idris looks at me for a moment. Every protective part of him wants to spare her one more legal term, one more piece of Garrett’s rot, but he nods before the impulse can turn into another closed door. “You’re right.”
Dash’s eyebrows lift slightly, and I glance at him. “Don’t get used to hearing it.”
His mouth almost curves. “I was considering writing it down.”
The humor passes without growing into another exchange. Idris taps Zana’s name and places the phone on the counter between us.
Zana answers on the second ring. She sounds like she has not slept since the first time we called her, and paper moves in the background while another voice murmurs somewhere farther away. “Tell me Calliope is asleep.”
“She is,” Idris says. “Theo is with her. Dash, Sloane, and I are in the kitchen.”
“Good. I’m going to be blunt, and one of you needs to write this down in language that won’t make her feel like a court exhibit tomorrow morning.
” Zana’s voice sharpens around the instruction.
“Garrett’s story relies on Calliope being isolated, unstable, and improperly influenced by Alphas seeking access to an Omega. ”
Dash reaches for a notepad on the counter and begins writing without being asked.
The sight of my brother documenting the legal shape of the woman I love affects me more than it should.
He's helping preserve the truth without taking over the room, and the action feels like another piece of the conversation we just had.
“She isn’t isolated,” Idris says. “She’s here voluntarily.”
“Document it,” Zana replies. “Date, time, location, who was present, and what Calliope chose. If she stays in the nest, record that it was her choice. If Sloane and Idris stay in the house, record that she consented. If Dash remains her housing support, include that he housed her before he knew the full pack circumstances and that he has never restricted her movement.”
Dash’s pen moves quickly, his jaw set.
I hate that Callie sleeping in a nest has to be translated into evidence because Garrett turned care into leverage. Every soft thing we do now needs a hard record somewhere nearby in case a man with a law degree tries to make tenderness look like coercion.
“What about Theo?” I ask.
“He matters more than Garrett realizes,” Zana says.
“His placement records, his blocked statements, and the temporary-bite witness file all undercut Garrett’s claim that Calliope harmed him by existing.
I need Theo’s voice on his own timeline when he can give it.
He won’t make a statement tonight or during a spike. ”
“He’s finding his voice,” Idris says, quiet conviction cutting through his restraint. “More every day.”
“Then protect that by giving him time. Do not rush him because you’re angry.”
I close my eyes briefly because the warning belongs to me as much as anyone else.
Kade’s voice comes through the speaker next, rougher and farther away. “I have call logs, file-access timestamps, device overlap, and the security footage you actually own. I can preserve what exists. I can’t invent a missing camera angle because it would make the case emotionally satisfying.”
Dash’s pen pauses, and I look toward the phone. “That was aimed at me.”
“It was aimed at everyone in the room with an Alpha designation and a revenge fantasy,” Kade says. “You qualify.”
Idris' hand settles at the back of my neck before I can answer. The touch reminds me where I am without restraining me, and I breathe until the anger sits somewhere manageable.
“The reroute pattern is cleaner now,” Kade continues.
“The dead number, false delivery confirmations, message delays, and call failures all move through the same administrative device cluster. I can’t prove Garrett typed every keystroke himself yet.
I can show that the activity moved through access only he or someone acting under his authority should’ve had. ”