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Haunted. Hollowed out.

“She kept repeating Caelan’s name. Over and over,” he mutters. “She kept mumbling, but nothing she said made sense until…” he swallows thickly. “She said, ‘I had to give him to my father.’”

“Fuck,” Dax curses.

“There’s more.”

Silas looks to Gav, who nods grimly. For a second, I feel kind of awful for Silas. He’s been struggling since his pack left for Chicago, and Gav making him retell this feels kind of cruel.

“She smelled like fucking Omega and was covered in Caelan’s blood. We had to strip her down, throw her in the shower just to wash the scent away, and see if she had any serious injuries.”

The idea of Caelan’s blood coating the Omega’s skin makes my lungs ache. “When she was in the shower,” he hesitates, jaw working back and forth. I realize his eyes are wet with tears, and my stomach drops.

“She asked me if Caelan was alive. Then she asked me—she looked me dead in the fucking eyes and asked—‘Did it work?’”

The air in my lungs escapes in a shocked exhale. I physically feel the blood drain from my face.

“Did it work?” Dax repeats dangerously. “She asked if it worked?”

“She said Caelan told her he’d come back for her, in three days. She said she knew he’d come back. Then she started crying. Said it was all her fault. Over and over. ‘It’s my fault. It’s my fault, it’s my fault.’”

“Fates,” I breathe.

“That lying, manipulative—” Dax’s fists are clenched tight at his sides. He stands so fast his chair flies backward, scraping across the floor. “She fucking knew he was coming back, and she set him up. I fucking knew it. I knew it!”

I look to Gavran for confirmation.

“I heard her,” he says solemnly. “I was there. Heard every word she said. She was a bit delirious, sure, but she was lucid enough to answer questions. Lucid enough to tell us exactly what she did.”

I glance at Caelan. At the tubes, wires, and bandages. The too-still form of the male who was laughing with me in the gym just three days ago. The male, who, despite his ongoing fight with Dax, seemed wistfully happy recently when he thought no one was looking.

“She set him up,” Dax repeats. “Lured him in, then convinced him to come back for what? Sex? A Bond? Could she have convinced him they were Mates somehow?” He shakes his head. “Then she delivered him straight to her father.”

“We don’t know that,” I argue weakly. “Why would she do something like that?”

“Because she’s her father’s creature. They’re both pieces of shit,” Dax snaps.

“Then why is she injured?” I argue. I know I’m just grasping for something, anything, that’ll make this all make sense. “If she were working for her father, then why would he hurt her?”

“You’re not this naive,” Dax sneers.

“Pretend,” I snap back, “that I am.”

“The injuries are just all part of the act. They’re probably self-inflicted. Or her father did it, so there’s supposed proof that she’s a victim. So we’d do exactly what we’re doing now—questioning her guilt. I mean, she can’t very well claim innocence and come out completely unscathed.”

My head feels like it’s spinning. “It’s…”

“It’s completely fucking plausible,” Dax finishes for me. “Especially considering who her father is. You think he’s above hurting his daughter to make her damsel in distress act more convincing?”

I lean over, hanging my head between my legs.

Damnit. When he puts it like that, I can’t really argue.

My gaze lands again on my brother.

I look at him. Really fucking look at him. At his shallow breaths, the waxy pallor of his face, and his lips that are cracked and dry.

He’s broken. In pain. In a fucking coma.