"Last week." Lila lowers her voice even more. "Her pack said she was fine during heat. Like, completely normal. Then two days later she just... collapsed. Dead before they could even get her to the infirmary."
Tyler's hand finds mine under the table, squeezes tight.
Same story as Iris and the other omegas. The official report said everything was normal during their heat and death, days later, was due to natural causes.
"That's awful," I manage, voice steady despite the fear crawling up my spine. "Do they know what caused it?"
Lila shakes her head. She’s pale; the news has affected her too, same as it will affect every other omega on campus. "They're saying heat complications.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Gideon Stockwell,” I mutter under my breath. “I need to speak to him.”
25
ELOWEN
Before I can message Gideon,my phone buzzes.
Grandmother:I'm here, little one. Which building?
I stare at the screen, trying to process. She's here? At Elderwood. Without warning.
"Elowen?" Julian notices my stillness. "What's wrong?"
"My grandmother just arrived on campus." I look up, bewildered. "I didn't know she was coming."
All three are immediately alert. Protective.
Mira wouldn’t make the four-hour drive on impulse. She's too practical for that. If she's here, she senses something. My stomach tightens. Does she know about the bonding? About the three of them?
Of course she knows. Somehow, she always knows.
"I need to meet her." My bag is already on my shoulder, hands shaking slightly.
"We're coming with you," Calder says.
I want to protest, give myself time to explain before she sees them all together. But I know they belong with me even for this.
"Okay," I agree quietly. "But let me talk to her first. Please."
Tyler squeezes my shoulder. "We'll hang back. Just close enough."
Mira's truck sits in visitor parking, far corner, under the oak tree, because she doesn't trust campus drivers not to ding her doors. The sight of it makes my throat tight. Familiar forest-green paint, rusted spots near the wheel wells, ‘Rowan's Tea Clinic’ painted on the side in fading gold letters.
Home. It smells like home even from here.
She's at the truck bed when we arrive, lowering the tailgate to reveal neatly packed boxes. Herbs, I know without looking. She's brought replenishments for my work.
"Grandmother."
She turns, and relief floods her face. Then she moves toward me with arms open, steady and certain as mountain stone.
I collapse into her hug, breathing in sage and mountain air and the particular warmth that belongs only to her. For a moment I'm eleven years old again, being held after my parents' funeral, being promised I'd survive this.
"Let me see you." She pulls back, hands framing my face, eyes searching with that knowing gaze that misses nothing. "Thinner. Not eating enough."
"I eat plenty," I protest, but I'm smiling despite the tears threatening.
"Hmm." Her attention shifts past me to where the pack stands at a respectable distance. Her expression doesn't change, but I feel the shift in her focus.
