Page 94 of Reckless Consequences

In the kitchen, Theo is preparing lunch, moving with his usual grace despite looking a little tired around the edges. He’s been pushing himself with the renovations lately, particularly with getting his music room perfect.

“Just in time,” he says, smiling as we enter. “I was about to call everyone in.”

“Smells amazing,” I say, inhaling the scent of herbs and garlic. “Need any help?”

“You can grab drinks,” he says, gesturing toward the refrigerator. “Ryker and Jinx should be in any minute.”

As if on cue, Ryker walks in from the east wing, sawdust clinging to his clothes despite his usually meticulous nature. The mountain air has been good for him—there’s a relaxed set to his shoulders that wasn’t there during our time at Omega Guardians.

“Security systems?” he asks, accepting water from Theo with a nod of thanks.

“Ninety-eight point seven percent operational,” Finn reports. “Monitoring rotation is set per pack agreement.”

“Good work,” Ryker says, the simple praise carrying genuine appreciation.

Jinx bursts in from outside, scent of cherry tobacco and pine following him. “The course is fucking perfect,” he announces, eyes bright with satisfaction. “Cay, you have to try the new section after lunch.”

“Let her eat first,” Theo says with gentle authority that somehow makes even Jinx pause.

We settle around the dining table—another of Mona’s thoughtful design elements that seems perfectly sized for our pack. The seating arrangement has established itself naturally over the past month—Theo at the center, Ryker and Jinx flanking with protective positioning, Finn and I completing the circle. My body relaxes automatically, comfort spreading through me at our familiar arrangement.

“So what’d Mona have to say yesterday?” Jinx asks between bites. “She blow anything up at Aria’s place yet?”

I laugh, remembering my sister’s latest update. “Apparently she’s revolutionizing their research department. Aria says productivity is up three hundred percent, but the safety protocols had to be completely rewritten.”

“That tracks,” Finn says dryly.

“The designation research is actually going really well,” I continue. “They’re making progress understanding how the virus affected each of us differently—why I adapted while Finn’s body initially rejected it.”

“The virus interacted differently with my existing neurological structure,” Finn explains, analytical even about his own near-death experience. “My brain apparently rewired itself rather than accepting the genetic changes at face value. Mona says it’s unprecedented—almost like my brain created its own translation for the formula’s instructions.”

“Which explains the enhanced perception without full designation shift,” I add. “Best of both worlds, according to Mona—beta stability with something close to alpha-omega sensory capacity.”

“Any long-term concerns?” Ryker asks, his protective instincts never fully at rest.

I touch the claiming marks at my neck reflexively—physical evidence of something that shouldn’t be possible. A beta carrying alpha and omega marks that register in ways designation science says cannot happen. A warmth radiates from the point of contact, small pulses echoing the presence of each pack member even at a distance.

“Nothing concerning,” I assure him. “Our changes seem stable. Mona calls it evolution rather than mutation.”

“I like that,” Theo says thoughtfully. “Evolution.”

“According to Quinn’s intelligence reports, there are at least two hundred other individuals showing similar adaptation patterns globally,” I add, sharing information from yesterday’s call.

“That many?” Ryker asks, immediately alert.

“Most were subjects in Sterling’s research facilities,” I explain. “Mona’s work at Omega Guardians is focusing on helping them now.”

“Global designation equality legislation was introduced in fourteen more countries this week,” Finn adds, pulling up a news feed on his tablet. “Legal recognition of non-traditional pack structures is gaining momentum worldwide.”

“The Sterling shitstorm had some silver linings after all,” Jinx says with dark satisfaction.

“Has anyone heard anything about Roman?” I ask, the question I can never quite leave behind despite knowing Alexander confirmed killing him.

A momentary silence falls around the table.

“Recovery operations officially ended at Aurora last week,” Ryker says carefully. “The control hub was completely destroyed in the collapse. No remains were recovered beyond what Alexander already reported.”

“Meaning his body might never be found,” I say.

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