Page 8 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

“I called. They’ll enter a welfare concern. It’s not a missing-person case yet. She’s an adult, hasn’t been gone long enough for them to move hard, and campus says she left on her own.” I swallow the worst part, but it won’t stay down. “The dispatcher warned me about repeated contact if someone requested privacy or no contact.”

Dr. Mercer’s hands still over her bag.

Idris goes very quiet. “She used those words?”

“Generally. That’s what she said when I asked why.” I look down at Theo because his breathing has started to quicken again. “I don’t know what’s in the system. I don’t know if Garrett filed something, or campus flagged something, or if I’m hearing ghosts because I want a throat to put my hands around.”

“You’re not hearing ghosts.” Idris picks up one of the printed pages and turns it toward me. It’s the message from Callie’s number, enlarged until the cold words look even colder. I need a little more time. Don’t wait for me. Focus on Theo. “This isn't her.”

“I know.”

“This message came through six minutes after Dr. Mercer logged Theo’s interrupted heat response on her tablet and thirteen minutes after you felt the bond close.”

My body goes still around Theo. “Say that again.”

“I checked the time stamps while you were driving.” Idris taps the paper once. “Garrett said she asked for time because the interview ran long. But this message came after the crash had already started here. After he would’ve known Theo was medically unstable. It gives exactly the instruction that keeps you in place.”

Dr. Mercer looks between us, then closes her bag with a decisive click. “I’m going to document Theo’s interrupted heat response, his current reactivity to Garrett Crane’s presence, and my recommendation that Theo remain under the supervision of Idris Ward and Sloane Rivera until a follow-up assessment. I’m not making a placement recommendation today.”

“Thank you,” Idris says.

“It’s not a favor,” she replies, her voice steady. “It’s what I observed. But I’ll also be documenting that the household’s head Alpha attempted to override medical communication protocols during an active destabilization event. Bellwether will ask questions.”

“Let them,” I say.

Idris looks at me, warning in his eyes, but Dr. Mercer only nods once. “Be careful how you answer. Systems protect themselves before they protect people, especially when paperwork arrives before the truth does.”

She leaves through the side entrance a few minutes later, and none of us speaks until the side door closes behind her. Theo stays pressed against me, his face turned into my chest, his breathing slowly evening out. Idris sits across from us with the evidence spread over the table.

“I should’ve gone with her,” I say. The words are quieter now, which makes them worse. “I keep going back to the driveway. She looked back. Did you see that? She looked back before she got in the car, and I thought she was nervous about theinterview. I thought she needed me to trust her competence instead of hovering like an asshole Alpha who can’t let his mate drive herself. So I stayed. I let her go because I was trying to respect her, and Garrett used the space I gave her.”

Idris’ eyes close for half a second. “I told her to bring every version of herself home.”

Theo lifts his head. His eyes are wet, but his voice is steady enough to cut. “She would’ve.”

The phone on the table lights with nothing important. Just a spam email preview, some useless notification that isn’t her. I stare at it until the screen goes dark again, and the anger returns in a cleaner shape. Hot enough to burn, focused enough to use.

I’m done asking the wrong people for permission to know whether the woman I love is alive and safe.

Idris reaches for his phone. “We need someone Garrett doesn’t control.”

I drag my eyes from the dead screen. “Who?”

“A lawyer he hasn’t trained, intimidated, paid, mentored, or slept beside in pack meetings for years.” Idris scrolls through his contacts, his face hardening into something I recognize from the old days, back before Blackline had polished offices and glass walls, back when he was dangerous because he saw five moves ahead and never mistook patience for mercy. “Zana.”

Theo’s fingers tighten in my shirt. “Will she help Callie?”

“She’ll help us find the truth,” Idris says, already lifting the phone to his ear. “And then we’ll use it to bring Callie home.”

I press my mouth to Theo’s temple and reach for my own phone with my free hand. I open Callie’s contact again because I can’t stop, because somewhere my baby is scared enough to believe silence is all we have for her. I type with my thumb while Idris waits for Zana to answer, each word chosen like I’m setting it into her hands.

Callie, I felt you get scared. I don’t believe you left. I don’t believe that message. I’m with Theo and Idris. We’re looking. Baby, wherever you are, hold on. I’m coming.

Idris

Garrett leaves at 8:17 the next morning with his coat buttoned, his phone in his hand, and a threat dressed as administrative concern tucked neatly behind his teeth. The front door shuts softly behind him, too softly for the amount of damage he’s already done, and the sound moves through the house with the same cold authority as every paper he’s touched since Calliope disappeared. Sloane stands in the foyer until the engine disappears down the drive. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t move. His phone is in his hand, Calliope’s contact open on the screenagain, and his thumb keeps hovering over the call button like the body can beg even after the mind understands another call may be turned into another weapon.

Theo is tucked between us on the library sofa, unwilling to let either of us farther than arm’s reach since Garrett started talking about placement. He’s wrapped in one of Sloane’s hoodies and Dr. Mercer’s blanket, holding onto both of us. He’s exhausted enough that his eyes keep closing, but every time the house creaks, they open again.