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The words slice deep. “Evie?—”

“You don’t want me.” Her voice cracks. “You didn’t come. You let them – Xar and Blaise – they were there and you weren’t and ithurts, Dane. Ithurtsso bad and you just – you just stayed away.”

She’s sobbing before she finishes the sentence, and it unravels me completely. I put the glass down, shift closer.

I ease onto the edge of the nest, heart thundering so loud I’m sure she can hear it. She’s trembling – shoulders hunched, face blotchy with dried tears, skin slick with heat. Her scent is wild, unbalanced. All need and hurt.

“I’m here now, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

“No, you don’t,” she chokes. “Youdon’t. Yousaidyou would bond with me but you won’t eventouchme – won’t even look at me when I’m like this. You changed your mind. I’m too much, I’m not enough, I— I can’t—” She cuts off on a gasping sob and curls in on herself like she’s trying to disappear.

I gather her into my arms despite the tangle of limbs and scent and heat. She resists at first, squirming against me with little broken whines, but I hold steady. I always do.

“You arenottoo much,” I whisper into her hair. “You areeverything.”

“You’re a pack,” she sobs. “If one of you doesn’t want me, you’ll all pull away. I know you will. I’ll lose you. I’ll lose everything and I won’t survive it, Dane. Iwon’t– not after this. Not after knowing what it’s like tobelong.”

My chest caves in. Fuck, this girl. Thisbrave, broken, bright little omega who walked into our lives and rewrote every rule I thought I understood.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I murmur, rocking her slightly. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought waiting made me the safe one, the careful one. But I see now it just made you feel unwanted. And you’renot. Youneverwere.”

She sobs harder.

I reach again for the water, this time guiding it to her lips. “Just one sip for me, baby. Please.”

She shakes her head but I see the way her body sways toward my voice, toward the comfort. “You have to keep drinking through it. Come on. Just a little.”

She takes a sip. Then another. Still crying, but letting me hold the glass. Letting mehelp.

I press a kiss to her forehead. “I know it hurts. I know it’s all too much right now. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I wanted all three of you,” she whispers. “I thought I was finally enough.”

“You are. You always were. I was the one who wasn’t ready. That’s not your fault.”

She hiccups on a sob and I tuck the blankets tighter around her, reach for the toast, breaking off a small piece. “Just a bite?”

She makes a face but takes it. Chews like it’s ash. Swallows with effort. “Don’t want it.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But I’m proud of you anyway.”

More tears spill, silent now, tracking down her cheeks as she lets me feed her another bite, then another. Just enough.

When she sags against me, boneless with exhaustion, I cradle her like she’s fragile crystal.

Because sheis.

And she’s mine.

She settles, slowly, against my chest – body still trembling, but the edge of it’s dulled now. Her tears have quieted into little hitching breaths, each one landing warm on my throat.

I shift us, guiding her into my lap, her back to my chest, my arms wrapped around her middle. I murmur into her ear, not even words at first, just soft sounds. Comfort. Presence.

My purr starts low in my chest – instinctive, unconscious.

She gasps a little, shoulders twitching, then melts.

“Oh,” she whispers, and something in her voice cracks open again. “I like that.”