“Yes, we do,” Dakota yells back. “Omegas needallthe blankets, Tadeo. Don’t kill the fantasy.”
I exhale sharply—half-laugh, half-sigh—but it catches in my chest. There’s a part of me that really wants to believe this isn’t a fantasy. That this whole setup—the Morder, the black market for omegas—might actually be real.
But something about it doesn’t sit right.
I know I’m younger than Knox and Alex by a little over a decade, but it’s like they’ve already decided there’s nothing to fear. They’re treating this like a weekend road trip, not the possible con it might be.
I’ve learned the hard way that belief doesn’t equal truth. That hope, if you’re not careful, can poison you from the inside out. And things that sound too good to be true? They usually are.
Out beyond the trees, the wind shifts, and I hear it again—the low, steady murmur of alphas. Distant. Mechanical. Like something warming up.
Fuck, I hate how weird this feels.
“Hey.” Alex’s voice cuts into my thoughts. He walks over, shaking out his wet hands, letting the drops fall onto his jeans. “You’re making that face again.”
“What face?” I ask, though I know exactly which one he means.
“The one that says, ‘This is a trap and I’m ready to kill everyone within a ten-mile radius.’” He grins, nudging my shoulder. “You’ve been in silent-alpha mode since we got here.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Oh, great,” he snorts loudly. “Even worse.”
Knox stands up, rubbing a small, dry washcloth over his face. “He’s nervous,” the pack alpha says without looking at me. “He doesn’t want to get his hopes up.”
“Don’t speak for me,” I snip, even though he’s right. And he knows it.
“My apologies,” Knox says, lowering the washcloth and flashing a crooked smile. “Wouldn’t want to upset our ruthless baby alpha.”
“Don’t call me that.” I glare, and his smile grows.
“Why not?” Knox teases. “I like it when you get all tense and broody. It makes me think you’re trying to impress me.” His big pecs flex, popping up then down.
Alex laughs under his breath. “You wish.”
Knox keeps his heated gaze on me. “Maybe I do.”
I roll my eyes and turn toward the tent.
Dakota’s still inside, holding up two sad, lumpy pillows like he’s judging fine art. His brow is furrowed as if the fate of the whole world depends on making the right choice. He really is so adorable when he’s like this.
But any urge to smile is completely overpowered by my growing anxiety.
“Trust me, Tad.” Knox steps closer. All joking is gone, and his brows pull together with worry. “Relax.” He cups the back of my head, gentle but sure, and presses a single kiss to my lips. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Guilt twists in my gut, and I nod quickly. “I do trust you,” I say. And I mean it.
It’s everyone else who’s the problem.
“Okay, everyone.” Knox turns and moves to our bags. He pulls a clean black and gray flannel out of his bag. “It’s almost eight. The sun will be down soon. It’s time to head out.”
Dakota emerges from the tent like he’s arriving on stage, dramatically flinging both pillows behind him. He’s wearing gym shorts, a hoodie with frayed cuffs, and neon green running shoes that squeak slightly as he walks. The hoodie’s too big, practically swallowing his lean frame, and he’s already shivering as the evening chill seeps in.
“I told you to wear pants,” Knox mutters as he buttons his shirt. The thin fabric clings slightly to his damp skin.
“I want to look approachable,” Dakota says. “Like, ‘Hi,I’m stable and emotionally available.’ Not, ‘Hi, I chop wood with my teeth.’” He cuts a look at Knox’s shirt.
The pack alpha laughs, and Alex snorts, ruffling Dakota’s hair as he passes. “And yet, you actually look like someone’s lost little brother.”
