"Arching, yes. And her face is so red?—"

"Gas, probably. I'll be there in two minutes. Try laying her on her back and bicycling her legs gently."

I follow his instructions, but Luna's too worked up now. Her cries echo through the house, and I'm struck by how thin the line is between caretaker and catastrophe.

True to his word, Austin appears at the back door in under two minutes. Hair mussed from sleep, wearing flannel pants and a henley thrown on backward, but his hands are steady as he takes Luna from me.

"Hey, moon girl," he croons, already working her legs in a practiced rhythm. "Got a tummy ache? Let's fix that."

He shows me how to hold her, how to apply gentle pressure to her abdomen, how to recognize the different cries. Luna settles gradually, hiccupping through the last of her tears while clinging to his shirt.

"Gas drops are in the medicine cabinet," he says quietly, aware of her drowsing state. "Second shelf, blue bottle. Sometimes she just needs help working things through her system."

I retrieve them, watching him administer the drops with easy competence. Luna's eyes drift closed, exhausted from her ordeal. When he offers her back to me, I take her carefully, mimicking his hold.

"Thank you," I whisper. "I'm sorry for waking you?—"

"Never apologize for asking for help with her." His voice carries unusual intensity. "We should have done a better job preparing you or at least made sure you had everything you needed to reach us."

"I should have a real phone," I admit, the words tasting like shame. "But Blake... he controlled the plan, tracked everything. After the divorce, it got shut off immediately. All I have is this cheap prepaid that barely holds a charge."

Austin's expression darkens in a way I've never seen from him.

The usual sunshine replaced by something harder.

"He isolated you."

"It was for pack unity," I say automatically, then hear how hollow it sounds. "Or that's what he said. Keep outside influences from disrupting our bond."

"Bullshit." The vehemence surprises me. "That's not pack behavior, that's abuser behavior. A real pack, a good pack—we make each other stronger, not smaller."

The 'we' hangs between us, loaded with meaning.

Luna sighs in her sleep, and I rock her automatically, processing his words.

"I thought I was doing everything right," I admit to the darkness. "Followed all the rules for being a good pack Omega. Submissive, supportive, accepting whatever the Alphas decided was best."

"Can I—" Austin pauses, something uncertain in his expression. "Can I hug you? Just... you look like you need a hug, and I'm trying not to assume?—"

"Yes," I breathe, surprising myself. "Yes, please."

He's careful about it, mindful of Luna between us. One arm around my shoulders, the other supporting Luna's weight. His scent—clean linen and mountain mornings—wraps around us both. Not demanding, not claiming, just...offering comfort.

"Iron Ridge failed you," he says quietly against my hair. "Blake failed you. But that's on them, not you. And I hope—we all hope—that maybe we can show you what pack is supposed to be. What family is supposed to be."

I should pull away…maintain boundaries…remember that I barely know these men, that trust is dangerous, that Alpha promises have burned me before. But Luna's warm between us, and Austin's embrace asks for nothing except the chance to offer comfort, and I'm so tired of being strong alone.

"Thank you," I whisper again, meaning more than just tonight's rescue.

"Always," he says simply. "That's what pack does."

When he finally pulls away, I miss the warmth immediately.

Luna stirs but doesn't wake as I adjust her in my arms.

"I should let you get back to sleep," I say, though part of me wants to beg him to stay. To not leave me alone with the responsibility and the quiet.

"I'll walk you up," he offers. "Make sure she settles okay."