"One step at a time," I said, echoing what everyone kept telling me. Maybe if they kept on telling me it would be something I actually believed.
"Exactly." Oliver climbed into the truck, but before starting the engine, he rolled down the window. "Tomorrow, six o'clock. But if you need anything before then—anything at all—you have my number now. Use it."
"I will," I said, and meant it. I watched his truck disappear down the road, then stood in the fading light for a long moment. Three Alphas had visited in two days. All of them checking on me, supporting me, offering patience and understanding I wasn't sure I deserved.
Tomorrow, I'd face all four of them together. The thought made my stomach knot with anxiety, but underneath it was something else. Something that felt dangerously close to hope.
Inside, my phone buzzed with a new message.
Viola: How are you doing? Did you tell them about this morning?
I typed back:Tomorrow. Oliver came by to check on me. Everyone keeps checking on me. It's weird.
Her response came quickly:That's called having people who care about you. Get used to it.
I smiled despite myself, setting the phone down. Having people who cared. What a strange, terrifying, wonderful concept.
I spent the rest of the evening in my usual routine—making a simple dinner, tending to evening garden tasks, and preparing for tomorrow's workload. But everything felt different now, colored by the knowledge that tomorrow would bring change, whether I was ready for it or not.
Chapter Twenty-One
Oliver
The drive back to the pack house was quick, my mind replaying every moment of the conversation with Daphne. The way she'd stood in her garden, dirt-stained and beautiful in the golden afternoon light. The vulnerability in her voice when she'd admitted her fears. The careful way she'd pulled her hand back from mine—not rejection, just self-preservation.
I understood that impulse more than she probably realized. The truck rumbled over the gravel drive as I approached our property, and I found myself taking in the view with fresh eyes. What would Daphne see when she arrived tomorrow? The half-renovated farmhouse with its new porch still lacking paint? The barn foundation we'd poured last week, raw concrete waiting for walls? The stacks of lumber and tools scattered across what would eventually be a proper yard?
We'd been so focused on making the place functional that we hadn't stopped to consider how it might look to someone visiting for the first time. Someone who'd spent five years creating a sanctuary of order and beauty, who might see our work-in-progress as chaos rather than potential.
I parked beside Micah's truck and cut the engine, sitting in the growing dusk for a moment. Through the kitchen windows, I could see warm light spilling out, hear the faint sounds of voices and laughter. Home. We haven’t been here too long, but already this place felt like home in a way the various apartments and rental houses we'd cycled through never had.
Maybe because we were building it together. Or maybe because we all knew, without saying it explicitly, that we were building it for more than just the four of us.
The front door swung open before I'd made it halfway across the yard, and Garrett stood silhouetted in the doorway, his posture tense with barely contained worry.
"Well?" he demanded, not even waiting for me to reach the porch. "Is she okay? Did she tell you what happened? Should we be worried?"
"Breathe, Garrett," I said, climbing the steps with an amused smile on my lips. Garrett didn’t get like this very often but it was rather amusing to watch when he did. "She's fine. And she'll tell us everything tomorrow."
"But—"
"Tomorrow," I repeated firmly, using just enough of my Alpha authority to make it clear the discussion was closed. "She’s asked to tell us all together, and we're going to respect that."
Garrett's jaw tightened, but he stepped aside to let me pass. "At least tell me she seemed okay. Not hurt or scared or?—"
"She seemed tired," I sighed, kicking off my boots in the mudroom. The scent of the house wrapped around me—pack, home, and the lingering aroma of whatever Levi had been cooking. "Tired,wary, and doing her best to hold herself together. But she let me stay. We talked for a while."
I moved into the kitchen, where Levi was pulling something out of the oven—focaccia, from the smell of it, probably the batchhe'd been planning for tomorrow. Micah sat at the table with his laptop, though his sharp green eyes were fixed on me with obvious curiosity.
"You were gone a long time," Levi observed, setting the bread on a cooling rack. The kitchen was warm from the oven, fragrant with rosemary and olive oil and the yeasty scent of fresh bread. "Must have been a good conversation."
"It was," I confirmed, moving to the sink to wash my hands. The water was cold and grounding, washing away the last traces of Daphne's property and the honeysuckle sweetness of her scent that had clung to my skin. "She's scared. Really scared. But she's trying."
"That's all we can ask for," Micah said, closing his laptop. His expression was thoughtful, calculating. "Did you get any sense of what happened this morning? Why she needs to talk to all of us?"
I dried my hands on a dish towel, considering how much to share. Daphne had asked to explain it herself, but the concern in my packmates' faces made me want to offer something. "My gut says it has to do with Trinity. The timing, the fact that she was rattled but not in immediate danger—it fits."
Garrett's expression darkened immediately, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "If that woman?—"
