Page 23 of False Catch

"It's not," she continues. "My suppressants are working. My heat is controlled. But we're still falling apart because we're pretending we only want each other when biology forces it."

"That's..." Gray starts, then stops.

"True," I finish for him. "It's true. I didn't just want to help you through your heat, Reese. I wanted you. Still do."

"Fuck it, same," Zane admits. "The bus thing wasn't just about helping. I've wanted to do that since you first told Gray to shove his attitude up his ass."

"That was a good day," Beckett agrees. "Very formative."

"So what are you saying?" Gray asks Reese directly. "That we should just... act on it? Outside of heat?"

"I'm saying we should stop pretending it's clinical when it's not," she says. "Stop acting like the only reason we'd touch each other is biological imperative. That lie is what's killing our synchronization."

"The administration—" Tyler starts.

"Isn't here," Jackson says quietly. Everyone turns to look at him. "In this room, right now, it's just us. And we need to decide if we're going to keep lying to ourselves or not."

"Not just attracted," Reese interrupts. "Connected. When one of us is off, the whole boat feels it. When one of us is in sync, everything flows better. That's pack dynamics, whether we call it that or not."

"Even if you're right," Gray says, "we can't just... what? Accept it? Act on it?"

"Why not?" I find myself asking. "At least for tonight. At least until we figure out how to row together again."

"And after tomorrow?" Tyler asks, ever practical. "When the administration is watching? When we have to pretend again?"

"We'll handle tomorrow when it comes," Reese says. "Right now, we need to remember how to move as one."

"How?" Gray demands.

She looks at the tanks, then back at us. "We row. But this time, without walls. Without fighting what we are."

"That's not a plan," Gray protests.

"Sure it is," Zane says, understanding dawning on his face. "She's saying we row as a pack instead of as individuals pretending to be a team."

"Exactly," Reese confirms.

"This is insane," Gray mutters, but he's already moving toward the tank.

We all follow, taking our positions. But this time, something's different. When Zane's elbow bumps mine as he adjusts his foot stretchers, neither of us jerks away. Tyler accidentally splashes Cameron while settling in, mutters "sorry," and gets an actual shrug in response instead of Cameron's usual stone-faced nothing.

Small things. But after a week of maintaining careful distance, of recoiling from any contact, it feels significant.

"Ready all," Reese calls, and her voice is different now. Warmer. More intimate. "And row."

We begin to move, and immediately something's different. The catches align naturally. The water accepts our blades in unison, creating a single rhythmic splash instead of chaos. The sound echoes off the basement walls, clean and pure.

"That's it," Reese says softly. "Feel each other. Don't think, just move together."

And we do. For the first time all day, we move as one entity. Eight bodies following the same rhythm, eight oars cutting through the tank water in perfect synchronization. The humidity that felt oppressive before now seems to bind us together, our breaths matching, our scents mingling in the thick air.

"Power ten in two," Reese calls. "Show me what we really are. One... two..."

We drive harder, and the sound is beautiful. Water surging past our blades in perfect harmony, creating a single powerful current through the channel. The basement echoes with it - not the chaotic splashing from before, but something almost musical.

"Yes," she breathes, and there's something in her voice that makes my skin prickle despite the sweat. "Just like that. Together."

We row for five more minutes, and it's the best we've felt since Riverside. Maybe better, because now we're not fighting it. We're embracing what we've become. The water that separated us earlier now connects us, each stroke sending ripples that the next rower catches perfectly.