Chapter 22
ELOWEN
The morning starts normal.
Too normal. The kind of normal that tricks you into thinking everything's fine before the world tilts sideways.
I'm walking to herbal practicum, notes tucked under one arm, mind already on the scent-extraction demonstration Professor Robbins mentioned. Calder falls into step beside me halfway across the quad; our schedules have started syncing without discussion, paths crossing at predictable intersections.
"Sleep okay?" he asks.
"Better. You?"
"Fine."
The conversation is mundane, comfortable. His shoulder brushes mine when we dodge a group of chattering betas. November air bites cold enough to see our breath.
We're ten feet from the science building when I hear it.
"That's the one, right? The omega with three alphas?"
The voice carries. Intentionally loud, meant to be heard.
I keep walking. Calder's stride hitches, barely perceptible, but I notice.
"Bet she's good at sharing."
Crude laughter follows.
My face burns. I don't look, don't acknowledge, just keep moving toward the building entrance because engaging would only make it worse—
Calder stops walking.
I turn.
His expression has gone cold and flat. Dangerous. Every line of his body taut with barely leashed violence.
"Calder, don't—"
He's already moving.
Three strides close the distance to the alpha who spoke, tall, broad-shouldered, smirking with his friends like this is entertainment. Calder grabs him by the shirt collar and slams him against the brick wall hard enough that I hear the impact.
"Say that again." His voice is lethal. "I fucking dare you."
The quad goes silent. Students freeze mid-step, conversations dying. Everyone watching the spectacle unfold.
The alpha's smirk vanishes. Hands come up, placating. "Hey, man, I was just—"
"Just what? Objectifying an omega? Reducing her to what you think she's good for?" Calder's grip tightens. The alpha's face reddens. "Finish that sentence. I want to hear you say it while I'm standing here."
"Calder." My voice comes out strangled. "Let him go."
He doesn't seem to hear me. Vision tunneled, pulse pounding visible in his neck, every protective instinct spiked into dangerous territory.
This isn't careful, controlled Calder. This is violence barely leashed, one wrong word from becoming something worse.
"Calder, please—"
He looks at me then. Really looks.
I watch realization crash across his expression as he sees my face, eyes wide and dark. Fear of what he might do, fear of how this looks to everyone watching.
His hands release immediately. The alpha stumbles, coughing.
Calder steps back. Stares at his own hands like they belong to someone else.
Then he walks away. Fast, deliberate, won't look at me or anyone else.
"Calder, wait—"
He doesn't stop.
The alpha straightens, rubbing his throat. His friends close around him, throwing dark looks my way like this is somehow my fault. Other students whisper, phones probably already spreading the story across campus.
I stand alone in the aftermath, feeling our pack fracture in real time.
I text him three times during class. No response.
After, I check the workshop, the library, the greenhouse. He's not at any of our usual places.
Tyler finds me searching the quad.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
I explain the incident. Watch his face fall with each sentence.
"Oh no," he says quietly. "Oh, Calder."
"I need to find him."
"He'll come back when he's ready."
"What if he doesn't?"
Tyler doesn't have an answer for that.
Afternoon finds me in the greenhouse alone.
Our usual time. The space feels wrong without all four of us filling it.
When the door opens, relief floods through me.
Then I see his face.
Calder stands in the doorway like he's forgotten how to come inside. Won't meet my eyes, body language closed, everything about him screaming distance.
"Are you okay?" The question comes out too eager. "This morning—"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You—"
"I handled it. It’s done."
The flat tone cuts deeper than anger would. This is Calder shutting down, walls slamming into place.
I move toward him. He steps back.
The rejection lands physical and visceral.
"Please, just talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"There's everything to talk about. What happened—"
The door opens again. Tyler, cheerful smile dying when he sees the tension crackling between us. "What's going on?"
"Nothing." Calder turns. "I need to go."
"Calder, wait—"
But he's already gone, door swinging shut behind him.
Tyler looks at me. "What happened?"
I explain Calder's reaction when I asked him to talk to me, how he refused.
"He's spiraling," Tyler says grimly. "He thinks his worst fear came true, that he’s like them."
"He's not—"
"I know that. You know that. But he doesn't believe it right now."
Tyler finds Calder by the lake that evening.
I know because he texts me after: Tried talking to him. Won't listen. Says he needs space to think. I'm worried.
I wait an hour. Then I go looking..
I catch him outside the greenhouse as dusk grows heavy. "Calder, wait."
He stops. Doesn't turn.
"Please talk to me."
"There's nothing to say."
"There's everything to say. This morning—"
"Was a mistake. I made a mistake."
He finally turns to face me. The distance in his eyes steals my breath. Not fiery anger— cold fear, raw and consuming.
"You're afraid, I get it."
"I'm realistic."
"What happened this morning doesn't change anything."
"It changes everything." His jaw works. "I proved I can't control myself around you."
"But you held back. You didn't hurt him."
"I wanted to. For a second, I wanted to." The admission comes out rough. "You looked afraid, Elowen. Of me."
My breath catches. "I wasn't—"
"Don't lie. I saw your face."
"I was surprised, not afraid of you. Never afraid of you."
"Same thing."
"It's not—"
"I need time. Space. To work through this."
"We can work through it together."
"No." He steps back when I reach for him. "I need to do this alone."
The rejection is physical. My chest cracks open. "Are you leaving us? The pack?"
Long pause. Too long. "I don't know."
"Calder—"
"I'm sorry. I just... I can't right now."
He walks away.
I stand alone in the November dusk, cold seeping through my jacket, feeling everything I thought we were building crumble.
Dinner the next day is wrong from the start.
Three of us at a table meant for four. Calder's empty seat glares like an accusation.
Julian studies his food with unusual focus. Tyler keeps glancing at the door. I push salad around my plate without eating.
Other students notice. Whispers start again.
"He's catastrophizing," Julian says quietly. "Turning one incident into proof of fundamental unworthiness."
"Can you not therapize right now?" Tyler's voice has an edge.
"I'm trying to understand so I can fix it."
"You can't," I say. Both of them look at me. "We can't. He has to choose to come back."
"And if he doesn't?" Tyler asks.
Silence answers.
Julian breaks it. "We give him space but stay present. Make clear we're still here when he's ready."
"How much space?" Tyler presses.
"As much as he needs."
"What if space is all he wants?" My voice cracks on the last word.
Tyler reaches for my hand. I let him, but it feels wrong. Something fundamental missing that his warmth can't replace.
Julian notices my untouched plate. "You need to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Your heat's approaching. You need to maintain—"
"I said I'm not hungry."
The sharpness in my tone makes them both go quiet.
"We'll get through this," Tyler says eventually.
I want to believe him. Can't quite manage it.
Three days pass.
Day one: Greenhouse. I wait for two hours. He never shows. His usual spot by the east window stays empty.
Day two: Dining hall. He's there but might as well be a ghost. Sits three tables away, won't look at us, leaves the moment Tyler approaches. Julian watches him go, jaw tight.
Day three: Class. Calder in the back row instead of near me. Maximum distance. He leaves the second Professor Reed dismisses us. I try to catch him but he's too fast.
The pattern repeats.
I'm not sleeping well. Lila notices, leaves tea outside my door with notes that say I'm here if you need me.
My appetite is gone. Julian notices, tries to manage it with protein bars and concerned looks that I avoid.
Heat symptoms are intensifying. My body stressed by emotional turmoil, scent shifting in ways that make other students give me more space than usual. Distress markers bleeding through despite my attempts at control.
Tyler and Julian close ranks around me. More attentive, more protective. But they can't fill the Calder-shaped hole in our pack.
Every day I think maybe today he'll come back.
Every day hope wears a little thinner.
End of the week finds me alone in the greenhouse.
Working mechanically, repotting winter herbs that don't really need it, trimming plants that are fine, staying busy to avoid thinking.
It's not working.
Heat's a week away now. Maybe less. I need to decide what I want. Alone or with pack. Except the pack feels fractured and I don't know how to want something that might not exist anymore.
The door opens.
Lila. She takes one look at me and her expression softens. "Oh, honey."
I don't realize I'm crying until she's there, arms around me, holding while I break.
"I thought we were strong enough," I manage between sobs.
"You are. He's just scared."
She stays with me while I cry myself out. Doesn't offer platitudes or false hope. Just presence, solid and real. Even when she starts sniffling with her allergies.
"What am I supposed to do?" I ask when I can speak again. "I wanted all three of them. For everything." My voice breaks.
"You can't put your life on hold waiting for him to figure his shit out."
"I don't want to give up on him."
"Not giving up. Just... deciding what you need. With or without him."