Page 78 of What We Don't Say: Part One

“Of course.” Garrett’s hand spreads over my stomach, anchoring me through the soft spike of panic his words have made. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

The sentence should fix the room, but it doesn’t.

Callie leans closer and sets her hand over mine where I’m gripping the cardigan. “I haven’t decided anything, Star. I promise.”

I nod because she’s looking at me like she needs me to understand, and I want to give her that. I want to be good at this. I want to be the kind of Omega who can hear offer and far and good for her without feeling like the floor is opening.

“Okay,” I say.

Her fingers tighten over mine. “I’m here.”

Right now.

She doesn’t say it this time, but the words are already in me.

Garrett’s cheek brushes lightly against my hair. It isn’t a kiss. It’s close enough that my body settles again, confused and grateful. His voice lowers near my ear, meant for the room but soft enough to feel private.

“These decisions take time,” he says. “No one has to solve them in a sunroom.”

Calliope’s face is careful. “No, they don’t.”

The agreement sounds like an agreement, but it doesn’t feel like one.

Her fingers remain still over mine. I look from Callie to the folder, then to the window where rain slides down the glass in thin, crooked lines. The nest still smells like her. My mouth still remembers her. My body still believes the way she held me and said she liked knowing what I wanted.

But now there’s a version of good that might take her through a door I haven’t seen yet.

Calliope

The first sound that wakes me is fabric dragging over the floor. I lie still beneath Sloane’s arm and listen while the sound comes again, soft and determined, followed by a quiet thump and the little huff Theo makes when something refuses to cooperate.

Sloane is hot against my back, one thigh hooked over mine and his face buried in the curve of my neck. He’s been running warm all evening, cedar and brown sugar thick in the room, his hands drifting even in sleep like his body can’t remember how to stop checking that I’m there.

Idris is on the other side of the bed, not asleep the way Sloane is asleep, with one hand resting near my hip and his breathing too measured for true rest. His eyes open before I’ve done more than shift beneath Sloane’s arm, clear and immediate in the dark.

“Princess,” Idris says softly, his hand settling at my waist. “What did you hear?”

“Shuffling.” I peel Sloane’s arm up carefully, but he only tightens it and makes a low sound against my skin. “Theo, I think.”

Sloane’s mouth brushes the back of my shoulder. His voice comes out sleep-rough, and the single word is already half growl. “Theo?”

“I’m going to check.” I turn enough to kiss whatever part of him is closest, which ends up being his cheekbone. “Stay here for two minutes before you come charging down the hall.”

Sloane snorts like I’ve said something insulting, but Idris touches two fingers to the back of his hand and keeps him from following immediately. I feel the quiet command pass between them without a word, and Sloane grumbles into my pillow while he lets me go.

The hallway is dark except for the soft spill of light from Theo’s room. His door is open halfway, and the shuffling grows clearer as I get close: blankets whispering over the floor, a drawer opening and shutting with a careful click, Theo breathing through the kind of concentration that makes the rest of the world disappear.

When I reach the doorway, I stop with one hand on the frame. Theo has taken the room apart.

The bed is stripped down to the fitted sheet, and every blanket, sweater, pillow, and stolen piece of the pack has been dragged into the center of the room. He’s building something wide and low across the rug, bigger than the closet nest, bigger thanthe sunroom bench, with one of Idris’ dark throws spread flat underneath and Sloane’s sweatshirt bunched into a warm wall near the back.

A shirt I recognize as Garrett’s is folded near the left side, precise in a way that tells me Theo handled it carefully. One of my soft old sweaters sits near the middle, not buried or hidden, but placed.

Theo looks up when he sees me. His hair is a mess, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are bright with that near-heat shine that makes every instinct in the house lean toward him, but he smiles like I’m arriving exactly where he meant to put me.

“Callie,” he says.

I step inside, keeping my voice low. “Hi, Star.”