DAPHNE

I step into the living room and let the file fall from my hand. It hits the coffee table with a dull slap.

I close my eyes. Breathe through my nose. Let the silence of the room settle around me before I do something embarrassing, like put my fist through a wall.

Soft knocks on Omega quarters. Carefully worded assurances, promises of protection—and every time, the same thing. Women going still the moment I said what I was there for. Faces shuttering. A step back. Thank you, Luna in voices that meant please leave me alone.

Today had been the closest I'd gotten. She'd let me sit down. Let me get through the first two sentences. Then she'd looked at the door, looked back at me, and just—walked out. Left me sitting in her room holding a blank piece of paper.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes.

The council's conditions had seemed fair when I'd agreed to them. Bring us proof. Reasonable. A clear bar to clear. Now it feels like a wall built exactly high enough that I can see over it but can't get through.

"Everything alright?"

I drop my hands.

Arden is on the couch. One ankle crossed over his knee, a book open in his lap, watching me with that particular stillness he uses when he's trying not to look concerned.

I hadn't noticed him. Which tells me more about where my head is than I'd like.

"Another one refused today," I say. "She ran before I could even finish the sentence."

He sets the book face-down on the cushion beside him.

The file told the whole story. Half-finished accounts. Names I couldn't put in writing. Healer's logs that documented injuries without once naming the men who caused them.

It's nothing. Legally, it's absolutely nothing.

"I keep thinking I'm doing something wrong." I say it before I've decided to. "Some approach I haven't tried yet. Some way of asking that makes it feel safe enough. But maybe there isn't one. Maybe I'm the problem — too new, too much of a stranger."

"Sit down," Arden says.

I look at him.

"Sit," he says again. Not an order. Just an offer.

I sit on the couch beside him. He shifts behind me without a word, hands settling on my shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots along my spine.

"You're not the problem," he says.

"Then why isn't it working?"

He doesn't answer right away. His thumbs press into a knot at the base of my neck, and I feel my whole back unlock slightly.

"It will," he says finally.

"You don't know that."

"No. But I know you're not going to stop."

I'm about to answer when I hear the door.

I open my eyes.

Krue stands in the doorway.

His gaze goes to Arden's hands on my shoulders. Stays there a half-second too long. His expression doesn't shift exactly, but something in it goes very still—the particular stillness of a man choosing not to react.

The silence stretches.

"Mom's looking for you," he says. Flat. Aimed at me. "She's in the hallway."

I stand, and Arden's hands fall away.

"I'll be right there," I say.

Krue steps back from the doorway without another word.

ARDEN

The café is quiet.

Most of the pack is at dinner, so the usual crowd isn't here. Just a handful of people scattered at tables, keeping to themselves. I picked this place on purpose. Fewer eyes.

Sera sits across from me, and I can tell immediately that she misunderstood what this was.

She's dressed up. Hair down, makeup done, wearing a dress instead of her usual training gear. She looks nice. She also looks like she thinks this is a date.

"I'm glad you finally asked me out," she says, smiling as she reaches across the table for my hand.

I pull back before she makes contact.

Her smile falters.

"This isn't a date," I say.

She blinks. "What?"

"I asked you here because I need your help with something. But this isn't a date."

Her expression shifts—confusion giving way to something harder. "Then what is it?"

"I need a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

I lean back in my chair, trying to figure out how to say this without saying too much. "There's something I'm trying to handle. Quietly. And I think you might be able to help."

She stares at me. "That's incredibly vague."

"I know."

"Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"Not yet."

Her jaw tightens. "So you asked me here, let me think it was something it wasn't, just to ask me for some mystery favor you won't even explain?"

"I'm asking if you'd be willing to help. That's all."

"Help with what, Arden?"

"Something that matters."

She laughs—short and bitter. "You're unbelievable."

"I know this sounds—"

"It sounds like you're using me." She leans forward. "And we both know this is really about her, isn't it? Your wife."

I don't answer.

"So let me get this straight," Sera continues. "You're not interested in me. You never have been. But you'll ask me for favors when it's convenient?"

"That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?"

I meet her eyes. "It's me asking someone I respect if they'd be willing to help with something important. And you can say no. I won't hold it against you."

"You respect me," she repeats flatly.

"I do."

"But you're not interested in me."

"No," I say. "I'm not."

The silence stretches between us.

Sera's expression hardens. "You're really not interested in me at all, are you?"

"No. I'm not."

"Even though your marriage is political—"

"I know her well enough," I cut in. "And I'm not interested in anyone else."

She stares at me. Then she stands, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair.

I think she's going to leave without another word. That I pushed too hard. That this was a mistake.

But she stops. Looks back at me.

"I'll think about it," she says.

Then she's gone.

I sit there alone with my coffee, staring at the empty seat across from me, and I have no idea if I just made things better or worse.