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My hands haven’t stopped shaking. Not since I let Vae, Silas, and Calder haul me out of that cell. Away from the Omega, before I did something I wouldn’t be able to take back.

Because I would have done it. I would have killed her.

I wanted to. Fates, I’d fucking wanted to.

My stomach rolls at the memory.

One moment that twists circling over and over, like my conscience intends to make sure I never forget it.

Wide blue eyes filled with terror. Pale, white skin mottled with bruises I still don’t want to acknowledge. The way she went perfectly fucking still the second I lunged, her thin limbs shaking uncontrollably at the realization that I was about to end her life.

The moment something shifted in her eyes. When terror bled away, replaced by a grim acceptance and fierce longing, I somehow knew I didn’t imagine.

Like she always knew it would end this way.

Like she was too tired to fight.

I shake my head, wishing there was a way to erase that moment from my memory. Just like I can’t forget that, for the first time in my life, I nearly attacked an Omega.

Lunging at her had been instinctive. An ingrained response to an enemy taunting the life of my packmate.

It’s not like I acted on it in the end. Like I keep reminding myself, it was instinct. That’s all.

A previously silent part of me pipes up for the third time in an hour.

Like the Omega’s instinct to make herself small and still and silent? A learned behavior? Instinct like that?

Irritation sparks, and I clench my jaw. The logical part of me—the one that makes intelligent decisions not based solely on biological impulses—snarls at the short-sighted stupidity of my instincts.

It was an act. Don’t fall for it. That Omega is a master manipulator. Just look at your brother if you need a fucking reminder.

That shuts my Alpha up, thank the Fates. For now, at least.

“You know, normal people plot heists and world domination somewhere more appropriate than inside my medical wing. Like the training room. Or a fucking alley.” Calder stops in the hall outside the doors and peers into the spacious room we commandeered and transformed into a temporary War Room.

“Don’t have time to scout for good murder alleys right now, Calder. Too busy planning hostile takeovers and preventing Dax from committing homicide,” Vae quips, shoving handfuls of pretzels into his mouth. He swings back and forth in his rolling chair, the picture of nonchalance.

I’ve just finished setting up a few laptops and am finally falling into my own seat when Gav clears his throat.

We’re all accounted for, as long as you ignore the glaringly empty spot at the table where Caelan should be.

I should have moved that chair. It’s not like I counted the chairs in here. It’s a coincidence that there’s one more chair than needed. That doesn’t stop me from grinding my teeth every time my gaze lands on it, though.

Its mere existence is an obscene reminder that we’re down a male.

Fuck, I need to get my shit together.

“Alright, first of all,” Gav leans back to address Calder, who’s still outside the doors in the hall, tapping at the screen of his phone. “Thank you for letting us take over a room down here so we can be closer to Caelan. Now close the door.”

“You motherfu—” Calder cuts himself off, glaring at Gavran. “You know what? No. It’s fine. I love being appreciated and dismissed in the same sentence. Very on-brand for you assholes.”

Silas tries—and fails—to hide a smile behind his beer bottle as the door slams shut.

“Moving on,” Gav turns back to the table and his hard amber eyes zero in on me. “You want to tell me what the actual fuck that was, Dax? What part of ‘don’t kill the Omega,’ did you not understand? Do I need to spell it out in blood?” His voice grows more menacing with each word, but I keep my mouth shut.

I probably have this coming.

Gav swipes a piece of paper and a marker off the table. “Or maybe, you need me to color you a Fates-damned picture like a toddler so it sticks.”