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I’ve never given her little superstitions much weight, preferring evidence to untested belief. But after everything we’ve been through in the last week, I’m wondering which of the stories I tell myself might be clouding the truth. What can’t I see?

Ezra notices the light’s change too. His mouth curves faintly. “The house has decided we need ambiance.”

“Thoughtful,” I say.

Theo looks toward the lamp, then at me. “It does that sometimes.”

“Adjusts lighting for the mood?”

“It has opinions about storms.”

Normally I would classify that answer as strange. After the grave marker, the route stone, the bell, and Ezra feeling earth move from a bathtub, a considerate porch light feels almost polite.

I pick up the cooling tea Theo made me and take a sip. It tastes like peppermint and honey, but it can’t seem to cut through the edge of exhaustion. My body wants sleep, but my instincts refuse to unclench. I keep checking scents, testing that Ezra’s linen, sea salt, and apple is still clear. And I can’t get rid of the stench of guilt threaded through Theo’s leather and bourbon. My rosemary presses into the room, too sharp beneath the vanilla. Ezra watches me over his mug.

“You’re hovering,” I tell him.

“I’m observing.”

“That’s my line.”

“You’re allowed to share.” He yawns. “Why don’t you come snuggle with me? It’s late, or early, and we could use a nap.”

I shake off the suggestion, too unsettled to keep my knee from bouncing. Sleep is out of the question.

Theo crosses the room with measured steps. He stops beside the couch, giving Ezra room to decide whether he wants his touch. After a moment, Ezra catches Theo’s fingers. The breath Theo releases is barely audible.

“Stay here where the water helps,” Theo says. “We’ll keep the bathroom faucet running all night if we need to.”

“I’m aware you hate that.”

“I’ll survive the bill. Not losing you.”

“I love you, you stubborn overprotective alpha.” Ezra squeezes his fingers. “Next time you get scared enough to save me from the whole world, wake me up first.”

Theo’s mouth moves, almost a smile.

“Pepper too,” Ezra adds.

“Obviously,” I say.

Ezra squeezes Theo’s fingers, then lets go and looks at me. “And you, beautiful brave woman, are extraordinary. Thank you for keeping me sane tonight. Wake me if the house starts doing interpretive dance.”

“Promise.”

He leans back into the cushion. His eyes close before he adjusts the blanket. Theo bends slowly and tucks the edge around Ezra’s legs. In the warm early morning light, Ezra looks young and worn out, not fragile. It’s a reminder to myself not to treat him as though he’s breaking.

Theo remains beside him until Ezra’s breathing deepens. Then he turns to me. The kitchen feels too large with Ezra asleep, even though he’s only a few feet away. I set my tea on the table and wrap both hands around the back of a chair.

Theo doesn’t come closer. “I owe you more than an apology.”

His words work through me slowly. My body knows his voice. My omega wants his scent near, the heat of him, the weight of his palms. I’m still hurt. I’m also looking at a man who ran toward danger because someone threatened a person he has loved since they were boys.

“You scared me,” I say.

“I know.”

“And I understand why you went.”