Page 89 of What We Don't Say: Part One

Theo shakes his head, his jaw setting in a way that reminds me he isn’t just soft. He’s resilient. “No. I want them to see. I want to be... out there. With you.”

Walking into the lobby feels different with Theo tucked under my arm. Usually, I’m the one slipping in unnoticed, the Beta partner bringing a forgotten badge or a mid-day coffee. But Theo draws the air out of the room. He’s a visible Omega, marked byhis skittish grace and the careful way he holds himself, and I feel the weight of every gaze as we head for the elevators.

Sloane is the first one to see us. He’s standing near the glass-walled conference room, sleeves rolled up, halfway through whatever consulting problem Idris has dragged him into that morning. Kade is beside him, apparently pulled into the same consulting mess, with a tablet in one hand and a coffee in the other. The moment we step off the elevator, Sloane’s head snaps up.

“Sweetheart?” he calls out, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the office chatter. He doesn’t wait for us to reach him. He moves with that predatory Alpha focus, closing the distance in seconds. “What are you doing here?”

Theo steps forward, his face flushed a soft, dusty pink. He holds out the bag with both hands. “I made... an offering. For the pack. It’s lunch.”

Sloane freezes. I watch the realization hit him—the effort Theo put in, the way he’s shaking, the fact that he’s chosen Sloane’s workplace as the stage for this. Sloane’s expression softens into something so tender it’s almost painful to witness. He reaches out, not for the bag, but for Theo’s neck, his thumb grazing the line of Theo’s jaw.

“An offering,” Sloane murmurs, his voice thick. “God, Theo. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Theo insists, his voice gaining a fraction of strength. “Callie helped me with the containers.”

Idris appears then, stepping out of his office with his usual calculated precision. He looks at the scene—Sloane’s possessive stance, Theo’s offering, and me standing just half a step behind them. His eyes meet mine first, a sharp, searching look that checks for my comfort before he even acknowledges the bag.

“This is a surprise,” Idris says, though his posture relaxes the moment he reaches us. He walks over, his hand finding the smallof my back, a grounding anchor that reminds me I’m not just the driver. “The office is a madhouse today. You’ve rescued us.”

We settle in the small breakroom near the back, a space of chrome and white light that feels too clinical for the messy warmth of the lunch Theo packed. Sloane pulls two chairs together so Theo can sit practically in his lap, while Idris sits across from me, his knee brushing mine under the table.

Theo unpacks the containers with meticulous care, his fingers lingering on the lids. He watches Sloane’s face as the Alpha takes his first bite of a turkey club sandwich. It’s messy; a piece of lettuce falls onto the table, and Theo immediately reaches out to brush it away, his movements domestic and frantic.

“It’s good, Theo,” Sloane says, his mouth half-full. He reaches over and snags a grape from my plate, just like I predicted. “Best thing I’ve had all week. Better than the stale donuts Kade keeps in the breakroom.”

Idris opens his container, his movements slow and deliberate. He inspects the sprig of parsley, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Precision. I appreciate a man who understands the importance of presentation.”

Theo beams. It’s a small, fragile thing, but it lights up his entire face. He leans into Sloane’s side, his shoulder pressing against the Alpha’s broad chest, while Idris opens the containers and slides mine toward me before taking his own. Sloane keeps one arm around Theo as he reaches for the first sandwich.

“Eat your fruit, Callie,” Idris murmurs, nudging my hand. “You spent the morning hovering over him. You need to fuel up too.”

I take a bite of an apple slice, the sweetness sharp against my tongue. I feel a strange, soaring sense of pride. Theo is doing it. He’s finding a way to exist here that doesn’t involve hiding in a closet or clutching my sweaters in the dark. He’s offering himself, and they’re taking him with open hands.

Sloane finishes the first half of his sandwich in three bites, because of course he does, then reaches for the second like Theo might vanish if he doesn’t prove fast enough that he wants it. Idris steals another grape from my plate without looking at me. Theo catches it this time, his eyes narrowing, and Idris only lifts one brow.

“I was told there would be grapes,” Idris says.

“They were Callie’s,” Theo whispers, but there’s a flicker of humor in it.

“Then Calliope can steal mine.”

I reach across the table and take one from his container, and Theo’s smile widens like we’ve completed some sacred ritual correctly. It should be silly. It is silly. It’s also the first time all morning that his hands stop shaking.

Then the phone on the table chimes.

It’s Idris’ personal cell, and the name on the screen makes the air in the room cool by a few degrees. Garrett Crane.

Idris’ jaw tightens. He doesn’t look at the screen for more than a second before he taps the speakerphone. He doesn’t want to hide the call from us, which feels like a victory and a warning all at once.

“Garrett,” Idris says, his voice dropping into that neutral, professional register he uses for pack law.

“Idris. I assume you’re with Sloane?”

“We’re at lunch,” Idris replies. “Calliope and Theo brought us a surprise. Is there an emergency?”

There’s a pause on the other end. Not long. Just long enough for Theo’s hand to go still on the lid of Sloane’s container.

“A surprise,” Garrett says. “That’s good. I won’t keep you. Bellwether confirmed the adjusted timing for the next heat-prep delivery, and I wanted to make sure someone would be home to receive it.”