Chapter 3
THE ARGUMENT
DESTINY
I told him everything.
He went too quiet. I felt the shift in him before he spoke—the kind of restraint that meant he had already decided where he stood.
“You were going to walk into it alone,” he said.
Ty didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. It landed harder because it wasn't an accusation. It was simply the truth.
"I was going to get her."
"Alone."
"My mother was tied to a chair."
"I know."
"You saw the picture."
"I did."
I felt my temper flare.
"Then stop saying it like I made some reckless decision for no reason."
"I'm saying it because you did."
His words stopped me cold.
"You knew it was a trap, Destiny."
"I knew she was in that room, alone."
"And you knew somebody wanted you to walk into it by yourself."
"I wasn't going to leave her."
"I'm not asking you to."
His jaw tightened, the first crack I'd seen in his composure all morning.
"I'm asking why your first instinct was to leave us behind."
The words hit harder than they should have.
"I wasn't leaving you."
"You were."
His eyes never left mine.
"You were walking away from your Alpha. Your Luna. Your pack." He paused. "Your mate."
My chest tightened.
"I've been surviving on my own my whole life."
"I know."
"You don't know what it's like to be trapped in a room like that and realize..." I swallowed hard. "Nobody is coming."
His voice stayed low. He took one step toward me.
"This pack, this family, has had your back since the day we found you."
Silence settled between us. I hated that he was right.
"I'm not upset because you wanted to save your mother."
He looked at me steadily. "I'm upset because you never gave me the chance to stand beside you."
My shoulders deflated.
"I turned around."
"You came back because Isdisa reached you." His jaw tightened. "If she hadn't..." He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
"I've spent a year proving I would stand between you and anything that wanted to hurt you." His voice stayed steady, but I heard the strain beneath. "And the first time the world came for you..." His jaw tightened. "You still chose to carry it alone." His eyes never left mine.
"This pack doesn't leave its people behind." "The next time the world comes for you..."
He paused. "...do better. You know better.”
“I am not a damn pup.”
“I didn’t call you one.”
“You said I know better like I’m one of your trainees.”
“Destiny.”
My name. Flat. Direct. Not Angel.
Something in me went still. Something else flared louder.
“You are one of the most skilled fighters in this pack,” he continued, calm yet unyielding. “You read situations faster than almost anyone I know. You think strategically under pressure. And the second you saw that photo, every one of those instincts vanished.”
“It’s my mother,” I yelled.
“I know.”
“Strapped to a chair—”
“I know.”
His voice didn't rise, which was the problem. He gave me nothing to push against.
“I know exactly what you were thinking,” he went on. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Just say it.”
He held my gaze, choosing his words carefully the way he always did—not to wound, but to land the truth clean.
“Someone set up a situation to manipulate you emotionally, and it worked. They timed an attack, sent you a photo amid the chaos, told you to come alone, and you almost walked into it without telling anyone. You knew it was manipulation—and you still went through with it.”
He was speaking facts. I’d known it in the weapons room. I’d felt it. And I went anyway.
“I’m not apologizing for needing her enough to almost do something stupid.”
“That’s not what I’m asking for.”
“Then what are you asking, Ty? Because it sounds like you think I should’ve sat in a shelter while someone had my mother locked in a room—”
“I’m asking you to stop moving like you’re alone in this.”
His voice finally rose loud and sharp enough to land.
“I’m asking you to see that you are part of a pack that has shown up for you from day one. I’m asking you to trust me.”
He paused.
“Your mate.”
Those two words hit deeper than anything else he’d said because it was true. And because I had almost ignored it.
I knew I wasn’t alone. I turned back. I had come back. But my first instinct was still to handle it myself—twenty years of survival had overridden everything else.
Hearing him say it out loud made it harder to hide from.
“Yeah, okay, Tyrell.”
The words came out flat and dismissive. I heard it the second I said them.
He did too.
Something shifted in his expression—not anger, not even hurt yet. Something quieter. Like a door closing.
And in that space, I felt it—the exact moment he stepped back. He took a deep breath, nodded, then turned and walked up the path. He was done trying to reach me after I wouldn’t meet him.
I followed him up the path without saying anything.
***
Marcus announced there would be a briefing in the morning.
The breach had been contained. Three attackers were in custody. He already knew about the message and made it clear that we would gather intelligence before making any moves.
Darius and Carter had slipped into that focused, analytical headspace they defaulted to whenever something needed solving.
The compound settled into its post-attack rhythm—medical checks, damage reports, and tighter security rotations. Everyone moved as if the adrenaline had worn off, though it hadn’t.
I checked on the Omegas at the Academy first. All twelve were accounted for. I stayed until I was sure everyone was settled, and I went back to Ty.
He had made dinner. Chicken, rice, and spinach.
Normally, that came with commentary. Ty cooked like he had something to prove—half confidence, half improvisation—and narrated the whole process like an uninvited cooking show.
There were usually jokes, side comments, and at least one “hear me out” before adding something questionable.
Tonight, the kitchen was quiet. He moved with the same calm precision he always did, plated the food, sat across from me, and ate. He was present, but not fully with me.
I watched him carefully. He answered questions when I asked. Looked at me when I talked. Nothing cold or openly distant, but warmth was dialed down—pulled inward somewhere I couldn’t reach. And what unsettled me most was that I recognized it immediately.
Because it was my default setting and that’s when it clicked.
He wasn’t punishing me. He was hurt. He wasn’t trying to guilt-trip me; he was waiting to see if reaching further would matter.
By the time we went upstairs, I had already decided how to fix it. Or at least, I thought I had.
I’m not good with soft things. Vulnerability doesn’t come naturally to me, and saying the right words when something matters this much feels like speaking a language I’m still learning.
So I fell back on what I understood, not because it was right, but because it was easier than saying what needed to be said.
Over the past year, I had come to understand Ty’s body deeply. I knew exactly how to touch him, kiss him, and move in harmony with him. I gently crossed the room, slid my hands up his chest, and looked up at him in a way I knew usually melted his defenses.
He caught my wrists.
Gentle
“Not tonight,” he said quietly.
I blinked. I was stunned. In all the time we had been together—
“The shower’s free if you want it first,”
Still calm. Still controlled.
Then—he added. “I’ll go later. Destiny.”
My name again.
No softness. No, Angel.
That’s when it finally sank in that he wasn’t okay and that his patience had limits. Even water, given enough time, could pull back if it felt it was pouring into something that refused to hold it.
I showered alone for the first time in months, which pissed me off. Yes, I know I could have handled things better, but going this far felt almost cruel. I felt dismissed, and the feeling didn’t sit well with me.
Lying in bed afterward, I watched him sit at the edge, his back to me, the silence stretching too wide between us.
I wanted to say something, but I’ve never been good at apologizing.
Where I come from, apologies didn’t change outcomes, so I stopped offering them.
I made decisions, faced the consequences, and kept moving.
I picked up my phone and pretended to scroll, not wanting to be the first to break the silence. Besides, I had tried, and he told me, “Not tonight.”
About twenty minutes later, I heard him stand.
Shoes against the floor.
Quietly, he left the bedroom. I heard the front door downstairs open and close.
A second later, my phone buzzed.
Heading to the tavern. Don’t wait up.
I lay there in the dark, the phone resting against my chest, and let the silence settle around me.
***
TYRELL
The night air wasn't helping.
I came outside because the quarters were full of her—her scent in the sheets and her presence everywhere in a space that had quietly reorganized itself around her, without either of us consciously deciding it would happen.
Daphne.
Honeysuckle.
Mine.
Normally, that knowledge settled something inside me, but tonight it only made me think about how close she was and how distant she still felt.
So, I walked.
The compound at night had a distinct quality. Everything moved more slowly. The pack's energy settled into a low hum, rather than the constant motion that filled the daylight hours. I usually find it easy to think out here.
Tonight, my thoughts kept circling back to her.
A year.
The weight of that number settled into my chest.
A year of watching her learn to be safe. A year of watching her train hard, not only for herself but for this pack. A year of seeing her sleep through the night more often than not. A year of hearing her laugh more often.
The thought pulled a smile from me before I could stop it.
The waterfall.
Of all the memories that could have surfaced, that was the one my mind fixated on.