We check in at the desk. Connor’s voice remains steady enough to not sound like a scream. A nurse directs us up a floor, then down a corridor of blue-tiled purgatory. The walk takes an eternity. I trail a step behind Connor, partly so I don’t have to keep seeing his fists clenching and unclenching.
We find Zev first. He’s slumped in one of the hard plastic chairs outside Fowler’s room, a posture so un-Zev-like it takes a second to process. His chin is tucked to his chest, eyes closed and hands folded on his knees. His nostrils flare, then he looks up and sees us.
My scent probably gave us away.
“Hey,” he says.
Connor sits next to him. They share a look. Zev almost hugs him, but he catches himself, settling for a hard clap on the shoulder instead.
“Fowler is awake. I just needed a minute.” A moment passes. “We almost lost him.”
Connor asks, “How bad?”
Zev shrugs, and for a guy who is built like a fridge, he looks suddenly too small for the world. “Broken leg, mostly. A few bruised ribs. But he really smashed it up.” He sags back against the chair. “They say he’s lucky it wasn’t worse, especially with smoke inhalation.”
I swallow hard. “Can I—should I—” I gesture at the room. Already, a chorus of beeps rings out from inside.
Zev pins me with a soft gaze. “He’ll want to see you. He may not say it, but he will.”
I glance at Connor, who gives a reassuring nod. “Right. Okay.”
I push open the door and head inside. Fowler is propped up in bed, bare-chested except for the bandages and leads, his red hair mussed like a scarecrow and one eye bloodshot. He looks like he lost a fight with a truck. The vision of him sitting there makes my legs weak and the room do a quick spin.
Fowler grins lazily. “Princess, didn’t know I’d warrant visiting.”
His voice steadies me, which is good because I thought the floor was about to come up to greet me.
I roll my eyes. “I came for the Jell-O. Heard the orange is the good one.”
He snorts, then immediately winces and presses a hand to his side. “They should make a warning label: don’t joke post-bruised-ribs.”
I perch on the edge of the chair near the foot of his bed. There’s no one else in here, just us and the machines. “You look like shit.”
He barks out a laugh, careful this time. “I was going for rugged. Guess I overshot.”
We sit in silence. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, slow and deliberate, and think about how grateful I am that he’s here at all after such danger.
Fowler’s eyes meet mine, a flash of green under the bruising. “Seriously, though. I’m glad you came.”
My mouth suddenly dry. “Me too.”
The door creaks open and Connor slips in, Zev behind him. The energy in the room doubles, then settles—an old pack muscle memory, everyone falling into their slots.
Except me, the omega who doesn’t belong.
Fowler gives a lazy salute. “Look, both my favorite idiots in one place.”
Zev leans against the wall with his arms crossed. Connor hovers by my chair.
Fowler looks at me again, softer this time. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me. Us.”
I shrug, but the motion feels brittle. “I figured I’d regret it if I didn’t.”
Nobody says anything for a while. It’s not awkward, though. More like everyone’s recalibrating to the new gravity. Like I don’t need to sayI care for you all after allout loud because it’s easy to read in my face.
Fowler breaks the silence first. “So, are you here because I’ve earned a second chance with my mortal peril? Or are you just visiting the invalid?”
He says it like a joke, but there’s an edge to it. An eagerness for truth.
