His hands release immediately. The alpha stumbles, coughing.
Calder steps back. Stares at his own hands like they belong to someone else.
Then he walks away. Fast, deliberate, won't look at me or anyone else.
"Calder, wait?—"
He doesn't stop.
The alpha straightens, rubbing his throat. His friends close around him, throwing dark looks my way like this is somehow my fault. Other students whisper, phones probably already spreading the story across campus.
I stand alone in the aftermath, feeling our pack fracture in real time.
I text him three times during class. No response.
After, I check the workshop, the library, the greenhouse. He's not at any of our usual places.
Tyler finds me searching the quad.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
I explain the incident. Watch his face fall with each sentence.
"Oh no," he says quietly. "Oh, Calder."
"I need to find him."
"He'll come back when he's ready."
"What if he doesn't?"
Tyler doesn't have an answer for that.
Afternoon finds me in the greenhouse alone.
Our usual time. The space feels wrong without all four of us filling it.
When the door opens, relief floods through me.
Then I see his face.
Calder stands in the doorway like he's forgotten how to come inside. Won't meet my eyes, body language closed, everything about him screaming distance.
"Are you okay?" The question comes out too eager. "This morning?—"
"I'm fine."
"You'renot fine. You?—"
"I handled it. It’s done."
The flat tone cuts deeper than anger would. This is Calder shutting down, walls slamming into place.
I move toward him. He steps back.
The rejection lands physical and visceral.
"Please, just talk to me."
