"Let them show you they can care for you properly,” she says. “Sit with me. Talk to your grandmother."
So, I do. We settle at the small table while they cook, and I try not to allow thoughts of Kira and Iris and her twin brother Gideon back into my head. Not now. My time with my grandmother is too precious. Fear can resume again when she has gone home.
"You're happy," she observes. Not a question.
"I am."
She pats my hand. "Your mother would be proud. I'm proud."
At dinner, she tells stories about me as a child that make me want to sink through the floor.
"She once made healing tea for a rabbit." Her eyes twinkle. "The rabbit was fine, just napping. But Elowen cried anyway because she thought she'd failed."
"That sounds exactly like her," Julian says, warm affection in his voice.
"Always trying to fix everything." Tyler grins at me. "Some things never change."
Calder watches me with a soft expression that says he loves that about me, the caring, the trying, even the crying over rabbits.
Grandmother tells them about Asha building a life on different terms. About my mother continuing that legacy, about traditions passing from mother to daughter.
"Knowledge isn't destiny," she says firmly. "It's care. What you do with it, that's the choice."
The message is clear: she supports my choice. All of it.
Later, while they're clearing dishes, Calder approaches her carefully. "Thank you for trusting us with her."
Grandmother looks up at him, this large alpha trying so hard to be worthy. "I trusther. She chose well." She stands, pats his arm. "But don't make me regret saying that."
"No ma'am," he says seriously. "We won't."
As the evening winds down, she touches my elbow. "Walk with me."
Outside, November air bites cold and clean. We walk around the town in the comfortable quiet we've always shared. When I find my gaze scanning street corners for a glimpse of Gideon, I lower my eyes and force myself not to glance over my shoulder.
Mira’s expression has changed, become more serious. "The herbs aren’t the only reason I came," she says.
My stomach drops. "What’s wrong?"
"Something felt… off. I couldn't put my finger on it. Just... off." She grips my arm tightly as we walk. "I needed to see you were safe."
Grandmother doesn't deal in feelings and intuitions lightly. If she felt compelled to drive four hours based on instinct alone?—
I can't lie to her. Never could.
"There's been another death." The words come out flat. "Another omega. Post-heat, just like the others."
She goes very still. The particular stillness that means her mind is working through implications at speed.
"How many?"
"Two this year; one here, one at Thornwood. Another omega got sick, but she’s okay now."
She breathes out slowly. "Someone must be investigating, I mean someone other than Gideon Stockwell."
That’s the thing; I don’t think anyone is. "All four victims had just formed packs. First heat together. None marked yet." The words taste like ash. "We fit that profile exactly." Tears sting my eyes.
For a moment I think she'll panic, demand I leave campus, insist I come home where she can watch over me.
