Page 84 of What We Don't Say: Part One

“Morning,” Callie says, warm because she’s warm, because she keeps trying to offer the whole house her softness even when the walls don’t deserve it. She pushes the mug I made toward himwithout thinking, then realizes it has her cream in it and laughs at herself. “Sorry. That one’s mine.”

Garrett’s mouth tilts. “I gathered.”

Theo’s foot tightens around Callie’s ankle beneath the island. I notice it, Idris notices it, and Garrett notices it too, because Garrett is a man built entirely out of noticing and choosing when to pretend he hasn’t.

“Today should stay quiet,” Garrett says, taking a clean mug from the cabinet. His voice is mild and useful, the kind of voice that makes other people feel dramatic for hearing anything beneath it. “Early spikes linger. Theo may be more sensitive to shifts than usual, especially after a night with that many overlapping attachments.”

The word lands wrong.

My hand tightens on the honey jar before I can stop it. Callie glances back at me again, but this time her smile fades around the edges. Theo looks down at his water, and Idris’ eyes lift from Theo’s wrist to Garrett’s face.

“Overlapping attachments?” I ask, keeping the question low because if I let it go any louder, it will come out with teeth. Callie’s hand presses once over mine, a small warning and a smaller plea.

Garrett pours coffee like we are discussing weather. “Heat can amplify whatever feels safest in the moment. That isn’t a problem unless we start making decisions inside the intensity before Theo has had time to settle.”

The room stays warm. The coffee smells the same. Callie’s sweater still brushes my knuckles, and Theo’s foot is still hooked around her ankle, and Idris is still close enough to touch all of us if he chooses. I want to put my fist through the cabinet.

“He built that nest,” I say, forcing each word through a throat that wants to growl. “He put us where he wanted us.”

“I know.” Garrett stirs his coffee once, then sets the spoon down with barely a sound. “That was good to see.”

It should be harmless, but my Alpha scrapes at the inside of my skin because Garrett says good like he's evaluating a form. Like the night can be filed under promising but incomplete. Like Theo’s hand finding Callie’s again and again is a stage instead of a choice.

Callie shifts beneath my hand. She doesn't step away from me, but she goes still, and that small change burns hotter than any argument Garrett could have handed me.

“Say what you mean,” I tell him.

Garrett looks at me then. He doesn't square his shoulders or lift his chin, because he has always preferred reason to threat. “I mean he will need gentleness today. From all of us.”

“Bullshit.” The word comes out softer than I expect and more dangerous for it. Theo’s head jerks up, and I hate that I’ve startled him, but I can’t pull the sound back. “You weren’t talking about gentleness. You were looking at Callie.”

Callie’s fingers tighten around mine. “Sloane.”

I hear the caution in her voice, and I hear the plea under it. She isn't asking me to stop protecting her. She's asking me not to make the room worse while Theo is sitting there with his eyes too wide and his scent starting to sharpen.

Garrett exhales, patient enough to make my teeth grind. “I’m looking at the whole structure, Sloane. Theo’s first full spike was intense. Everyone did well. There’s no insult in saying we should be careful today.”

“You keep doing that.” I let go of the honey jar and step away from Callie because if I keep touching her, I’m going to use her body as the thing I’m defending instead of remembering she's a person standing right here. “You put a soft word over something sharp and wait for the rest of us to pretend we didn’t feel the cut.”

Garrett’s eyes cool by a single degree. “You’re running hot.”

“Yes,” I say, and the honesty of it makes the kitchen go still. “I am. That doesn’t make me wrong.”

Idris moves before Garrett can answer. He doesn't rush, but the room obeys him anyway. He comes around the island, his hand settling at the back of my neck, thumb pressing once against the tendon there in a way that is half comfort and half warning.

“Gym,” Idris says.

I laugh once, but there is no humor in it. “I’m in the middle of a conversation.”

“You’re two breaths from rutting through a political argument in front of Theo.” Idris keeps his voice low enough that it doesn't carry like a reprimand. His fingers tighten at my neck, and my body hates how much it wants to lean into the pressure. “Gym, Sloane.”

Garrett lifts his mug. “That may be wise.”

The growl comes up before I can bury it, and Theo flinches. That gets through faster than Idris’ grip, faster than Callie’s hand, faster than any self-control I’ve ever pretended to have.

I turn from Garrett so fast my shoulder clips the island. Callie reaches for Theo at the same time Idris steers me toward the hall, and I see her hand settle over Theo’s. His fingers fold around hers. Garrett watches it with that same calm, careful face, and every instinct in me starts counting exits, threats, ways to pick Callie up and take her somewhere his eyes can't follow.

Idris doesn't let go of me until we are upstairs. The gym door closes behind us with a soft click that sounds much too polite for the state of my body.