Page 83 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

I push off the counter and drag a hand down my face. My palm comes away damp with sweat. It’s one in the morning, my throat is bruising, my mind is in ruins, and I’ve just had the most confusing and devastating ten minutes of my entire life.

The front door opens, and Ethan rounds the corner into the kitchen and stops short when he sees me.

His gray eyes sweep the scene—the open first aid case, the bloody wrappers, the look on my face—and his brow furrows behind his glasses.

“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath, his hair pushed back from his forehead like he’s been running his hands through it. “Where’s Sophie? Did you bring her to the hospital?”

“She...” I clear my throat, which hurts. “She stitched herself up.”

Ethan stares at me. “She what?”

“Stitched herself up. Here. On the kitchen island.” I gesture vaguely at the counter. “Eight stitches. Clean and even. Better than most doctors could have done with one hand.” I pause, shrugging, as if any of this is normal. “She even let me help her.”

Ethan looks at the first aid case, then at me, then at the dried blood on the marble.

“She’s gone back to the residential wing,” I add, before he can ask. “And the cameras⁠—”

“Already done. I texted Max before the security team arrived.” Ethan pulls out his phone. “He’ll have wiped them by now.”

“Good.” I sink onto the nearest stool, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline is finally draining out of me, leaving nothing but weariness and the persistent ache in my throat. “We should call Max.”

Ethan is already dialing, the phone pressed to his ear, his expression grim. It rings once before Max picks up.

“Max,” Ethan says, leaning against the counter. “We’ve got a problem.”

I can hear Max’s voice on the other end, sharp and alert. Ethan walks him through it. The intruder, Sophie intercepting him at the blind spot she’d flagged, the fight, the knife wound, the evidence that needs to get to Declan’s team.

There’s a pause on the other end. Then Max’s voice, terse enough that I can make out the words even from across the kitchen.

“How badly is she hurt?”

“Knife wound to the forearm,” Ethan says. “She stitched it herself. She’ll be fine.”

He pauses again, longer this time.

“I’m catching the first flight back,” Max says. “I’ll be there by morning.”

“There’s nothing you can do tonight,” Ethan tells him. “The security team thinks I spotted the intruder. Sophie’s cover is intact. Everything’s handled.”

“I said I’m coming back.” Max’s voice leaves no room for argument. “I’ll be there by nine. Don’t do anything until I get there.”

The line goes dead.

Ethan lowers the phone and looks at me. “Well. That went about as expected.”

“He’s going to be insufferable when he gets here,” I mutter.

“He’s going to be worried,” Ethan corrects, and he says it carefully, like he’s choosing his words. “About the security breach and the investigation.”

I know what he means. And I know he’s not just talking about the break-in.

The kitchen falls silent except for the ticking of the clock.

I feel Ethan’s eyes on me before he speaks. They’ve landed on my throat.

“Finn.” He hesitates. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”