Page 157 of My Unhinged Alphas
Then dawn comes and suddenly he’s calling Knox, helping, waiting at Caldwell’s house like he’d changed his mind overnight.
Men like Voss do not change their minds like that.
Not for free. Not without reason.
So what changed?
Did he go back because of something we said? Because of Lena’s name? Because he knew something and hoped he was wrong, then found proof he wasn’t?
Or was he sent there?
That thought sits badly in me. I don’t like not knowing which side of a move I’m standing on. I like it even less when Brotherhood men start acting on instinct instead of instruction.
Nothing about him adds up. Nothing about Lena does either.
I turn onto her street and let the rest of the thinking go quiet.
The building looks like most others in the city. Brick front. Narrow entrance. Old intercom. The kind of place nobody notices unless they live there.
I park half a block away and watch for a moment. Windows. Street corners. Parked cars. Sidewalk. Nothing obvious. No one lingering too long. No reason for my neck to prickle.
Inside, the building smells like old paint and yesterday’s cooking. The stairwell light flickers once on the second floor. Her hallway is quiet. No doors cracked open. No curious neighbors pretending not to listen.
Her apartment door opens without a problem.
That bothers me.
No splintered frame. No visible damage. No signs that someone forced their way in and left it that way. Whoever set those cameras up did it neatly. Whoever watched her wanted the place to keep looking normal.
I step inside and close the door behind me.
It looks exactly like it did on the monitor, and that gets under my skin more than I expect. The chair. The counter. The bed in the next room. A life paused instead of abandoned.
I move quickly.
Wallet from the tray near the kitchen. Passport from a desk drawer after a short search. Phone charger from beside the bed. Laptop from the canvas sleeve. The green duffel from the closet. Then clothes. Jeans. Shirts. Underwear. Socks. Toiletries. Whatever matters. Whatever lets her feel like she still owns something.
I zip the duffel and stand.
The apartment feels close around me now. Not dangerous exactly. Just watched, even empty. I take one last pass through the rooms, not because I think I missed anything important, butbecause it feels wrong to leave pieces of her behind in a place like this.
Then I’m done.
I carry the bag and the box out, lock the door behind me, and head for the stairs.
I push through the building entrance and step back onto the street.
Cold air. Wet pavement.
A gray morning barely getting started.
Then I hear a voice.
“Vale.”
Everything in me locks. I know that voice.
I start to turn, and something slams into the side of my head.
