Page 87 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

“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 thelegal 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 canpreserve 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.”

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.