Page 6 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

“Put me on speaker.”

There’s rustling, then Theo’s soft breathing, shaky and close. “Sloane?”

I close my eyes in the middle of the sidewalk. The sound of his voice almost folds me in half. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m here.”

“Did you find her?” Theo asks it carefully, like the wrong answer might make his body crash all over again.

“Not yet.” I force the words out whole because he deserves a voice that doesn’t crumble on him. “Campus says she left, but they won’t give me anything else. I’m not done.”

Theo is quiet for a second. When he speaks again, his voice is smaller. “She’s not answering me either. I called twice. I left a message and told her I wasn’t mad.”

My teeth dig into the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. “You did good. She needs to hear that.”

“What if she thinks I wanted her gone?”

“No.” The word comes out too hard. I soften it fast, pressing my fingers against the bridge of my nose. “No, Theo. Listen to me. Whatever’s happening, Callie knows your heart. She knows you wanted her.”

“Garrett said she needed space because I got confused.”

The world goes very still.

Idris says Theo’s name softly in the background, but he doesn’t stop him. He lets him speak.

My hand closes around the phone until my knuckles burn. “When did he say that?”

“After you left. He was in the hall. He told Dr. Mercer he was concerned the attachment got reinforced too fast because I asked for her during the crash.” Theo’s breath wobbles, but the sentence stays whole. “I don’t want him to talk about her like that.”

“He won’t for long,” I say, and the promise inside it isn't soft.

“Sloane,” Idris says, closer to the phone now. “Come back to the house. I’ve got Theo in the library, and Mercer doesn’t want Garrett near him while his vitals are reactive. I’m not arguing with medical advice that gives me exactly what I already planned to do.”

Callie should be with him. Callie should be the one wrapping him in the blanket, tucking his hands into sleeves, telling him the world is loud but he’s safe inside it. Instead, Idris is turning a corporate office into a triage room because our house has a head Alpha in it who might be the reason our Beta is gone.

“I’ll meet you there,” I say. “I’m calling the police from the car.”

“Do it on the recorded line and keep your voice calm.”

“I’m out of calm.”

“Borrow mine,” Idris says. “For ten minutes.”

I make myself breathe. “Fine.”

The local police line routes me through a dispatcher with a voice so neutral it feels made by a machine. I give Callie’s full name, her age, the campus, the house, the bond status, the last confirmed contact. I say she’s not answering. I say she’s bonded and the bond closed after a burst of terror. I say there’s a protective medical context involving an Omega whose heat response crashed when she disappeared. The words sound insane outside our world, too intimate and too biological for a police report, but the dispatcher types steadily through all of it.

“How long has Ms. Monroe been unreachable?” she asks.

My gaze snaps to the dashboard clock. “Hours.”

“Is there evidence of immediate physical danger?”

“Yes.”

“What evidence?”

“I felt her terror through the bond before she closed it.”

There’s a pause. I hear the faint click of keys. “Sir, I understand that’s concerning to you, but I need external indicators. Threats, witnessed abduction, statements of self-harm, signs of violence, medical incapacity.”