I feel Blake go colder from across the room.
Maceo writes something down without looking up.
Dorian waits until Victor's latest apology settles, then turns his attention toward me. He hasn't spoken to the children again. He hasn't needed to. The shape of his interest remains in the room anyway.
"Luca," he says, his tone gentle enough that I hate my reaction to it. "For Ember House, we'd never ask for resident exposure. I want to make that clear."
My fingers tighten around the edge of Rosalie's stuffed rabbit. She pushed it into my lap after Dorian said her name and hasn't asked for it back.
"Good," I say.
Dorian nods. "But there may be anonymized ways to communicate impact. Not stories in a personal sense. Outcomes. Hope. A sense of what safety makes possible."
I think of the Omegas at Ember House who still sit with their backs to corners. I think of intake rooms, soft socks, warm drinks, people learning the difference between silence and peace. I think of Luca as a word in some deck I haven't seen yet. Survivor. Recovery. Proof.
My mouth goes dry.
"Safety makes people private again," I say. "That's the point."
For the first time, Dorian pauses.
It's small. Barely there. But I see it, and I know Blake sees it too because his gaze cuts toward me from across the table.
Dorian recovers smoothly. "That's a useful distinction."
Useful.
The word crawls under my skin.
The meeting continues, but I stop hearing it cleanly. Victor's voice turns into a low current of approval structures and transition phases. Blake corrects him. Victor apologizes. Luther redirects authority back to Blake with terrifying calm. Dorianwatches the room as if every reaction teaches him where to press next.
Rosalie falls quiet against my side. James opens his notebook but doesn't draw. Samuel keeps one foot pressed against Rosalie's shoe.
I can't breathe in here.
When Grayson catches my eye from across the room, I don't have to say anything. His expression changes at once. Not alarm. Not panic. Recognition.
He stands. "I'm taking Luca and the kids back to the family office."
Victor glances over, polite concern arranged across his face. "Everything all right?"
"Yes," Grayson says.
No explanation. No apology.
Luther gives one short nod. Blake looks at me for half a second, and the need in his face almost breaks me. He wants out too. He can't leave. Not yet.
So I take the children and go.
The hallway air's cooler, but it doesn't help the way I expect. My hands shake as I adjust Rosalie's sweater. Samuel talks too quickly about the elevator buttons. James stays pressed close to my other side, silent except for the occasional soft scrape of his shoe against the floor.
I don't go to the bright lounge where the kids usually play. I mean to. I turn that direction first. Then the glass walls catch the light, and something in my chest rejects it so hard I stop walking.
Too open.
Too visible.
Grayson stops with me. He doesn't ask.
