"Something's wrong," I said again, more certain now. "I'm going over there."
"Levi—" Oliver started.
"I'm going." I was already moving toward the door, grabbing my keys from the hook. "You can tell me I'm being paranoid later. Right now, I need to see her."
"Wait." Garrett stood, setting his book aside. "I'll come with you."
"Me too," Micah said, closing his laptop.
Oliver hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "All of us, then. If something is wrong, we face it together." The drive to Daphne's cabin usually took fifteen minutes. I made it in ten, my foot heavy on the gas, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. Garrett sat beside me in the passenger seat, tense and silent. Oliver and Micah followed in Oliver's car.
The whole way there, I tried to convince myself I was overreacting. Daphne was fine. She was probably just napping, like she'd said. Or maybe she'd gotten absorbed in her gardening and lost track of time. There were a hundred innocent explanations for why she hadn't responded to messages.
We pulled up to the cabin, and the first thing I noticed was the silence. No music playing from inside, no sounds of movement. Daphne's truck was in the driveway, so she was home, but the place felt... empty. Wrong.
"Her back door is open," Garrett said sharply. I was out of the car before he finished the sentence, sprinting toward the cabin. The back door wasn't just open—it was hanging ajar, swinging slightly in the breeze. Daphne never left her doors open. She was too careful, too aware of the world's dangers.
"Daphne!" I shouted, bursting through the door into the kitchen. The scene that greeted me made my blood run cold.
The kitchen was a disaster a chair overturned, broken glass on the floor, herbs scattered across the counter like there'd been a struggle. And there, barely visible through the doorway to the living room, I could see a foot. A bare foot, pale and still.
"DAPHNE!" I crossed the space in three strides and dropped to my knees beside her.
She was on the floor, crumpled against the base of the couch like she'd tried to get up and collapsed. Her skin was pale, clammy, her breathing shallow and rapid. But she was breathing—she was alive and the relief that crashed through me was so intense I nearly sobbed.
"Daphne, sweetheart, can you hear me?" I gathered her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. Her head lolled against my shoulder, but her eyelids fluttered.
"L-Levi?" Her voice was barely a whisper, slurred and confused. "You... you came..."
"I'm here. I've got you." I looked up as the others rushed in, their faces going white as they took in the scene. "Call 911. Now."
Oliver already had his phone out, his voice sharp and commanding as he rattled off the address. Garrett dropped down beside me, his hand finding Daphne's, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.
"What happened?" he demanded, though she was clearly in no state to answer. "Daphne, what happened to you?"
"She... she was here..." Daphne's eyes were glazed, unfocused, but she was trying to speak. "Trinity... she..." The name hit me like a physical blow. Trinity. That fucking psychopath had been here, had done this to our omega.
"Where is she now?" Micah asked, his voice cold and deadly calm. He was already scanning the room, looking for threats. "Is she still here?"
"Don't... don't know..." Daphne's hand lifted weakly, and I saw the scratches on her arms, the beginning of bruises on her wrists. Signs of a struggle. She'd fought back. "I tried... I tried to fight... but I was so weak... couldn't..."
"Shh, it's okay." I pressed a kiss to her forehead, trying to keep my voice steady even though I wanted to scream. "You did good, sweetheart. You did so good. Help is coming."
"She... poisoned me..." Daphne's eyes were closing, her body going limp in my arms. "The tea... I drank... and then she came..."
Poisoned. Trinity had poisoned her. I looked up at Garrett and saw my own rage reflected in his eyes. He was vibrating withthe effort of holding himself back, of not tearing out of here to hunt Trinity down and rip her apart with his bare hands.
"Ambulance is five minutes out," Oliver said, crouching beside us. His face was pale, but his voice was steady. "Daphne, sweetheart, I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?"
"Trying..." But her voice was fading, her breathing becoming more labored.
"What did she take?" Micah demanded. He was in the kitchen now, examining the containers on the counter. "If she was poisoned, we need to know what with. The doctors will need to know."
"Check the water pitcher," Daphne mumbled. "And the... the tea..."
Micah grabbed both, sniffing carefully. His expression darkened. "There's something in both. I can't identify it by smell, but it's definitely been tampered with."
"Bag them," Oliver ordered. "The hospital will need samples." Garrett hadn't moved from Daphne's side. He was holding her hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity, his thumb stroking over her knuckles in a repetitive, almost desperate motion.
