The first page is formal, neat, and uglier for how ordinary it looks. My name. Emrys’ name. The West Talbot address. There’s a handful of headings and restrictions laid out in calm black lines that don’t care what happened in the alley. Baxter explains it without softening his voice, and I prefer that even when every sentence lands like pressure against my ribs. Until the investigation closes, until the possible charge is formallydropped, or until the order is modified, I can’t return to the building. I can’t contact Emrys directly or indirectly. I can’t even be within the specified distance of him, his apartment, or his workplace unless law enforcement clears it.
I look at the paper while the words settle into me. I can’t go home. I can’t stand outside his door. I can’t check the hallway, the stairwell, the side entrance, or the bins. I can’t put myself between Emrys and the rest of the world, even though the man who knew his name is still somewhere out there, and the police were called before the scene made sense.
“I didn’t assault him,” I push out, keeping my voice as level as I can.
“No one at this table needs that explained,” Baxter says. “Emrys said it. Grayson seems to believe it. I believe it. That doesn’t change the fact that the responding report put an Alpha, an Omega, visible injuries, and your shared building into the same sentence. Morrison is treating the order as a protective measure while she covers procedure and liability.”
“She’s keeping me away from him while the person who attacked him stays loose.”
“She’s creating a trap you cannot afford to step into.” Baxter turns the page and taps one clause, not because I need it read aloud but because he wants my eyes on it. “This doesn’t mean you agree with the premise. It means you understand the restriction. If you refuse to sign, the order still gets entered, you sit here longer, Morrison digs in, and the court gets to see a large Alpha refusing a protective order tied to an assaulted Omega. I can fight a bad order, Kade. I can push for modification. I can make sure anything your company has goes through counsel and cannot be twisted into you trying to involve yourself improperly. What I can’t do is help you if you hand them a clean violation because your instincts get ahead of your judgment.”
I’m not even pissed off about not being able to go home. I’ve slept in client guest rooms, office chairs, armored cars, and once on a gym mat after a fourteen-hour detail went sideways. I don’t need my bed or the clothes in the closet. What I need is ten feet down the corridor from my door, bruised and frightened, and the order in front of me tells me to leave him there while other people decide when my presence stops looking like a threat.
Baxter lets me sit with that for a moment before speaking again. “I’m very well aware that everything out of Chief Morrison’s mouth is contradictory. She’s always worked in our favor when it came to issues with our clients and you’ve been rewarded as such. Either she needs this easy win and doesn’t care about looking or it’s something else. Either way, there are three places to sign. We’ll challenge what needs to be challenged after the order is entered, but tonight you sign it and give them nothing clean to use against you.”
I fucking hate the backwards logic but I sign anyway, a rumble in my chest growing louder and morphing into a growl before Baxter clicks his tongue. I stuff that sound back down and shift the file back to him.
“You’ll stay at the company tonight,” Baxter says as he returns the order to the folder. “Someone else can retrieve clothes and essentials once Morrison confirms the order is entered. I recommend Sloane, unless you’ve suddenly hired someone with better judgment while I was driving over.”
“Sloane is here?”
“He’s outside, and he looks like he’s considering whether rage can be submitted as a formal motion.” Baxter closes the briefcase and finally lets something more human settle into his face. “You can’t protect Emrys by violating this. I’m repeating that because I know you heard the legal warning, but I need you to hear the part that actually matters to you. If you cross the line,you make yourself easier to remove from anything that touches him.”
I manage a small grumble before pushing to my feet, Baxter leading me to the door. He knocks, as an officer opens it and takes the paperwork. There’s some conversation but I ignore it, searching for Emrys and finding him gone. Figures but still, I wanted toseethat Emrys was okay. Baxter throws me a look before the officer reads me the same words Baxter just did.
The moment they release me, I make my way outside, straight into the darkness, the cold air biting through my shirt, but it’s the lack of vanilla and warm bread that really stings. For months, I’ve watched Emrys from afar, content to be the silent guardian of his peace. Now, that peace is shattered, and I’m legally barred from being the man who sweeps up the pieces.
Sloane is waiting by the black SUV, his face a mask of operational neutrality that doesn't quite hide the tension in his jaw. He doesn't ask if I’m okay; he knows me well enough to know that 'okay' is a luxury we aren't currently afforded. He just opens the door and waits for me to slide into the leather seat before he pulls away from the curb.
"The server logs are already being pulled," Sloane says, as he navigates the evening traffic. "Dana is running the contact traces on the client files from last month. We're looking for anything that could connect to tonight’s attack, even a whisper."
I lean my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes. The image of Emrys in that hallway, the way he looked at me, with that desperate, crushing kind of recognition, won't leave me. He defended me. He stood there, trembling and broken, and told the police I was the one who saved him. An Omega defending an Alpha. The world is upside down.
"Focus on the maritime accounts," I say, my own voice sounding like gravel, needing the distraction. "They’ve been trying to squeeze our logistics encryption for months. If theycan’t buy the back door, they’ll try to burn the house down with me inside it."
"They didn't just target the company, Kade," Sloane counters, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "They targeted your neighbor. They knew exactly which button to press to get you out into that alley without your team. This wasn't a random hit. It was a surgical strike on your instincts."
He’s right, and that just makes it worse. They must have used Emrys as bait because they’ve been watching me just as closely as I’ve been watching him. They saw the way I lingered at my door when I heard his key in the lock. They saw the way I breathed in the air he left behind in the elevator. They turned my silent devotion into a vulnerability, and then they exploited it tonight.
I try to turn my mind to other things as Sloane pulls up to Rourke Securities, a fortress of glass and steel, usually a place of absolute control, but today it feels like a cage. The car has barely stopped before I climb out and walk inside, Sloane on my heels as we head up to the fifteenth floor. Dana is hunched over three monitors, her fingers dancing across the keys with a frantic rhythm that matches the thrum of static in my brain. She doesn't look up when I walk in, but her scent spikes with the stress of whatever she’s searching for.
“What are you doing here, Dana?” I ask, the tiredness I feel creeping into my voice.
The Beta looks up with a small smile on her face. “Baxter said all hands on deck and that usually means someone or something is in trouble. Sloane called me and since I was just leaving...” She pauses as I narrow my gaze at her. I’ve told her and the rest of the employees time and time again that they don’t need to work overtime because the work will always be here tomorrow. There’s a few exceptions but rarely. "Found a shell company," Dana says. "Blue Horizon Logistics. They’re a front for a front,but the money trail leads back to an offshore account linked to a primary infrastructure named the Cardinal Network. I’m not entirely sure who it is but they weren't even trying to hide it that well, Kade. It’s like they wanted us to see the shadow, just not the face behind it."
I walk over to the window, looking out at the city of Ansdale. Somewhere out there, a few blocks away, Emrys is sitting in his apartment, probably terrified, probably wondering why the man who saved him is being treated like a monster. "They want me distracted," I murmur, more to myself than to Dana. "They want me focused on the legal battle and the fallout, so I don't see whatever else they're moving into position. They’re trying to isolate me, and they’re using the police to do the heavy lifting."
"Which means we don't go quiet," Sloane says, appearing at my shoulder. "We push back. I messaged Xyla. She’s going to keep an eye on the bakery, discreetly. If anyone so much as looks at Emrys the wrong way, we’ll know." Sloane lets out an obnoxious yawn, and for the first time all night, I realize the bags under his eyes.
I raise an eyebrow, trying not to make a big deal of it. “Please tell me your Beta knows you slipped out to come rescue me.”
Sloane throws me a finger, but his lips quirk into a smile. “Calliope might have cussed me out and told me I owed her ice cream on the way.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but his Beta terrifies me. She’s wonderful and highly territorial over her Alpha’s time, which has led to some interesting phone calls asking me why I won’t let him go home.
I’m not catching shit for tonight.
"And the detective?" I ask, turning back to face them fully. "Grayson. He’s the one who was in the interrogation room with me and the only one who seemed to care more about Emrys than just what he was told."
Sloane pauses, his gaze sharpening in my direction. "I didn’t have a lot of time to research but he’s a Beta. Good record, but he’s a drifter. Never stays in one pack for more than a year. Why?” He tilts his head, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Do you think he’s yours? Fuck, that’s a twist. Shit, if he’s part of something with you, he’s going to fight it harder than anyone. He’s built his whole life around leaving before things get complicated." Sloane clicks his tongue and leans forward, his grin widening across his face. “Wait, shit. Isn’t Emrys yours too?”
