Page 121 of Pack Frenzy
The elevator doors slide open into the lobby, where the valet already has our car waiting.
Outside, the cold air hits me, and I didn’t know how overheated I was until now; my skin feels too tight, my pulse still hammering in my throat like I’m waiting for something else to go wrong.
Rowan’s hand moves to the small of my back as we walk, and I have to lock my knees to keep from leaning into him so hard I forget how to stand on my own.
Eli takes the keys from the valet with a thank-you and opens the rear door for me. The gesture is automatic, protective.
I slide into the backseat, the leather cool against my legs. Rowan follows, settling on one side of me; Cassian on the other. Their presence closes around me like bookends—steady, solid, unspoken reassurance that I’m not walking out of that building alone.
Eli gets behind the wheel. His hands are steady, his shoulders tight, eyes flicking between the road and the mirrors like he can out-watch any threat that might be trailing us.
The city lights smear across the windows as we pull away from Nexus. Rowan’s knee brushes mine; Cassian’s hand rests loosely over my thigh, a quiet grounding that says more than words ever could.
For a second, I wish we were driving back to the cabin at Brightwater Bay—the salt air, the sound of waves under the windows, the illusion that the world stopped at the shoreline.
But this is home now…with them, and tucked against the trees, near enough to the city to feel its pulse, far enough to breathe.
By the time we pull into the driveway, the silence in the car has calcified into something almost comfortable. Almost.
The house looks the same as when we left this evening, with the porch light on, Eli’s stubborn little herb garden by the door, but something about it feels different now.
Marked. Like Nexus reached through that conference room and left fingerprints on everything in my life that matters.
Inside, Rowan doesn’t bother taking off his jacket before he’s at the security panel by the door, fingers flying over the keypad. The soft beeps echo through the entryway, each one driving a new lock into place.
“Upgrading the system,” he says without looking at me. “Should’ve done it weeks ago.”
Cassian’s already in the hall closet, dragging out a toolbox that looks more like an arsenal. “Reinforcing the window latches. The ones upstairs are shit—someone could jimmy them open with a credit card.”
I stand in the doorway, still in my heels, watching them transform our home into a fortress. The air smells like wood polish and metal—familiar, ours…but my throat still feels tight.
“You’re turning us into a panic room,” I say, and my voice comes out smaller than I intend.
“We’re making sure you’re safe.” Rowan’s tone leaves no room for argument, but when he finally glances over, his eyes are asking a question he won’t say out loud. Did they hurt you?
Not in any way that leaves marks.
Eli appears from the kitchen with a glass of water I didn’t ask for and sets it on the side table. “You should eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You didn’t eat at the gala either.” It isn’t an accusation, just an observation, but it lands like one anyway.
I pick up the glass because it gives my hands something to do. The ice clinks against the sides, a small percussion of anxiety I can’t quite swallow down.
Rowan finishes with the keypad and turns to face me fully. His dress shirt is wrinkled now, tie gone, sleeves rolled to his elbows. There’s a smudge of grease on his forearm. He looks like he’s been building barricades, and I guess he has been.
“You don’t have to keep it together for us,” he says quietly.
The words hit somewhere soft and already bruised. “Neither do you.”
His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but close. He crosses the room in three strides and stops when he’s right in front of me, close enough that the heat of him engulfs me, see the tension in his jaw, the careful control in the way he’s holding himself back.
He studies my face like he’s reading between the lines, looking for all the things I’m not saying. And God, there are so many. Blake’s name sits on my tongue like poison I can’t spit out.
“They tried to separate us in the evaluations,” Cassian calls from the hallway, drill in hand. “Make us doubt each other. Standard psych-out bullshit.”
Eli leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “They asked Rowan if he found it difficult to share authority with a Beta.” His tone is dry, but I catch the flash of something darker underneath.
