31. Sloane #3
Zana takes over again. “That gives us pressure, and I’m also verifying the temporary order Garrett used to scare Calliope away from the pack.
My preliminary read is that it expired and was never converted into a full protection order because Theo didn’t sign supporting paperwork.
If Garrett tries to use that document, call me before anyone reacts. ”
Dash stops writing as Idris' hand stills against my neck. I picture Garrett holding the paper, his voice soft and his face composed, telling Callie the law says she can't stand near the people she loves. The mug in my hand cracks before I realize I have tightened my grip.
Dash reaches over and takes it from me without comment. For one dangerous second, instinct rises against the movement. Then I see the thin fracture in the ceramic and the coffee leaking over his fingers. He has prevented me from shattering a mug during a call about keeping my temper.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice rough.
Dash places the damaged mug in the sink. “You’re welcome.”
Zana goes quiet long enough that I suspect she understood what happened.
“Garrett wants a reaction. He’s losing control of the private narrative, which means he’ll try to create a public one.
Do not give him three Alphas exploding in a doorway unless you want the next filing to contain photographs. ”
“If he raises a hand toward her, I’ll break it,” I say before restraint catches up.
“I didn’t tell you to become furniture,” Zana replies. “I told you to remember witnesses, context, and restraint until restraint becomes impossible. Learn the difference quickly.”
Dash writes that down, and I look at him. “You’re enjoying this more than you should.”
“I’m writing because she’s right,” he says, his attention still on the page. “One of us needs to remember the instructions when your eyes go black.”
The statement could start another fight, though it does not. I look at my brother’s bent head, Idris' phone on the counter, Callie’s flowers in the measuring cup, and the cracked mug in the sink. Dash knows exactly how ugly I can become around Callie, and he's preparing to stand beside me anyway.
“We also need to discuss the school,” Dash says once he finishes the line.
“If Garrett appears on campus, I can involve security before it becomes a pack matter. Callie needs to know the plan. I won’t have her blindsided by men appearing in hallways because we decided worrying her was worse than informing her. ”
“Agreed,” Idris says. “She hears it tomorrow.”
I nod. “Theo too, if it involves him.”
Zana’s voice softens slightly. “That is the correct instinct. Garrett isolated everyone by convincing each person they were protecting someone else. Better intentions won't make the same structure safe.”
The truth settles through me. Garrett built rooms out of missing information and locked Callie inside one while convincing me I stood in another by choice. If I want to prove I am different, I can't keep building quiet around her and calling it care.
The call continues for another ten minutes, everyone working through a part of the plan so we can turn the timeline into something Callie can read without forcing her to swim through every ugly detail before breakfast. My assignment is simple and difficult at the same time: I won't call Garrett, threaten him, or drive to his office and put my fist through his teeth.
When the call ends, the kitchen feels smaller. Dash tears the top sheet from the notepad and slides it toward Idris.
“For the morning summary,” he says. “I kept it plain.”
Idris reads it once and nods. “Thank you.”
Dash looks uncomfortable with the gratitude, and I understand why. Being thanked for helping the people you love survive makes the need feel real in a way that hurts.
A soft sound comes from the living room. Callie’s voice, blurred with sleep, says Theo’s name as though she's soothing him without fully waking. Theo answers with a muffled whine. Idris moves first and stops in the doorway, while Dash and I follow behind him.
The nest is a mess of shadows and warm bodies.
Callie has rolled partly onto her side with one hand buried in Theo’s dark hair.
Theo is curled tightly around her, his cheek pressed to the center of her chest. His scent has sweetened again, though his breathing remains even.
Callie’s eyes stay closed while she strokes his hair once, slow and clumsy with sleep.
The bond between us aches as Idris stands on one side of me and Dash on the other. For the first time since the porch, the three of us look at the same room without becoming a war.
“She’ll need the summary after coffee,” Dash says quietly. “She won’t take in any of it before that.”
“She needs food before hard news,” I add. “Toast at least, or she goes quiet.”
“Tea first,” Idris says. “Then toast.”
Dash glances at him. “She drinks the tea better when someone leaves it within reach and pretends not to watch.”
I look at my brother while he watches Callie. His face is open in the dark in a way he would hate if he realized it. He loves her. I see it in the caution, the knowledge, and the way he's already planning a morning that won't take the morning away from her.
The hurt comes, sharp and ugly and entirely mine. I let it exist without moving, and that feels like its own kind of work.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I say.