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Soren sweeps in, placing a steadying hand on Idril’s elbow. He glares daggers around the room, as Gav turns and ushers them both to the door. Idril lets him, shuffling along while holding onto Soren’s arm with both hands, sightless eyes staring at nothing.

My head is fucking spinning. I can hear people talking around me, but I can’t process what they’re saying. My mind is still stuck on what I just saw and I can’t get it out of my head.

I lean over, bracing a hand on Caelan’s bed and trying to breathe as everyone exits the room. I don’t now how much time passes, but it’s probably only a few minutes before Gavran peeks his head back in. “Upstairs study. Ten minutes.”

I nod, giving him an awkward thumbs-up while trying to work some fucking moisture into my dry mouth. Eventually, I push off the side of the bed and walk around it, coming to stand next to Dax.

He still hasn’t moved, eyes locked on Caelan’s face with an almost scary intensity.

Then his arm shoots out, and his hand latches onto me, fingers curling into muscles of my forearm, making me jump.

“What? What is it?”

“His face,” he rasps, tearing his gaze from Caelan and turning it on me.

I nod. “Yeah, I saw. Her tears… Fuck, Dax. It's like his skin was—And that fucking glow—And⁠—”

“No,” Dax barks, interrupting me. Seeing my confusion, he shakes his head. “I mean—yes. That. I saw that. But also...”

He points to Caelan. “Look at his face. It was much paler before. Now look. His cheeks are flushed. His eyes… they’re moving behind his eyelids.”

I suck in a breath because… Fuck. He’s right. Caelan looks drastically healthier. Almost like he’s sleeping off a long night instead of—well, dead.

His eyes are moving furiously behind his closed lids. Like he’s dreaming. Even as I notice the change, the fingers of his left hand twitch.

“I don’t understand," I whisper, awed. “What did she do? If she meant to hurt him, why does he look like he’s healed? How could she⁠—”

“We don’t know she had anything to do with this,” Dax interrupts, throwing back his shoulders like he’s going to war.

He cannot be fucking serious right now.

“Now hold on. No. Fuck no. You don’t get to gaslight me right now Daxen. It’s been a long godsdamned night.” I glare at him. “You saw what I saw. I know you did.”

“I saw it,” he admits with a frown. “But that doesn’t mean much. It may have been completely accidental. We don’t know anything about her, or what she’s capable of. We’re lucky she didn’t kill him.”

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, I throw my hands up in defeat. There won’t be any reasoning with him tonight. Not unless I want to spend an hour banging my head against a wall.

He’s never going to admit the Omega is anything more than his enemy.

And Fates... for a while tonight I really felt the same. I might still, if I hadn’t had a front-row seat to whatever the fuck just happened. And I’m not saying Dax is totally wrong, but after that...

I’m not saying he’s totally right, either.

I can practically see his defenses working overtime to rebuild the walls that allow him to hate her while passing it off as ‘logic.’

And I let him. Because if I start a fight with him now, I’ll have to face the fact that our so-called enemy just healed our brother, and the implications of that are… staggering.

“Let’s go see what Gav wants,” I suggest with a sigh. “I want to go to bed, and the faster we get this over with…”

Dax nods, and with one last look at Caelan, makes his way to the door. I follow, making sure the fucking thing is closed this time.

The walk back to HQ feels like it takes a thousand years, but probably only takes five minutes. When we arrive at the study, everyone’s already seated.

This room is large—originally meant for councils with visiting Bastards, or meetings with delegates from the Council, or any other supposed governing power. It doesn’t get much use anymore, thanks to shit like Zoom.

Not that I’m complaining. Five hundred fucking years and it’s finally acceptable to have meetings without pants on.

Even though it’s not used as often, it’s one of the rooms Gav ensures stays ready at all times. A fire’s already crackling in the hearth, adding to the cozy atmosphere aided by plush rugs and oil paintings set in frames older than I am. Like the War Room, a sturdy oak table is the centerpiece, but this one’s missing the scratches and stains.