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“Looks that way,” I say, my voice dropping. “And it’s not just the isolation or the traps. Look around. Everything here is functional – cold, sparse. There’s nothing soft, nothing warm. No cushions, no blankets, no pillows that don’t feel like bricks.” I wave a hand at the threadbare room, the worn-out sofa, the battered furniture that looks like it’s barely held together. “It’slike she’s been starving her omega. Denying herself anything comforting…everything she needs…and for what? Just to feel…I don’t know, in control, maybe?”

Xar’s gaze follows mine, his jaw tightening as he takes in the room properly. “I didn’t notice it before, but you’re right,” he murmurs. “It’s like she’s trying to force herself to live like a beta, like being comfortable, beingherself,is some kind of weakness.”

“She doesn’t even have proper curtains. They’re not thermal or blackout,” Dane says, glancing toward the thin, faded fabric covering the windows. “No soft rugs, no throws, nothing to make this place feel like a home. Just the basics. Like she’s a guest in her own house. It’s horrible now that you’ve pointed it out.”

I nod, my chest tightening with the weight of it all. “And of course, there’s the scent neutraliser being pumped out around the place. Well, it was. I’m guessing there was a power surge or something that knocked it out and it’s not come back on yet, which is why we can suddenly smell her. But still, it’s a weird thing to do in your own home.”

“Her omega’s been starving, and she doesn’t even see it,” I say, the words scraping out of me. “She’s trained herself to ignore what she needs, what she deserves. And now? Now her omega is screaming at her to listen, and she doesn’t know how. I’m worried she might really hurt herself.”

The room falls silent except for the crackle of the fire and the distant howl of the storm. I run a hand through my hair, pacing again to try to shake the restless energy crawling under my skin. My alpha is clawing at me now that I’ve voiced my biggest concern, demanding I do something, anything, to make this right. To fix it. But what?

“She’s exhausted,” Xar says quietly, his eyes fixed on Eviana. “We’ve pushed her to the edge, and she’s too stubborn to admit it.”

“She’s scared,” I add. “And who wouldn’t be? She’s out here all alone, no pack, no one to protect her. No one to—” I cut myself off, biting back the words that are too sharp, too raw.

“No one to care for her,” Dane finishes for me, his voice low, his shoulders tense. “To make her feel safe.”

Xar exhales heavily, dragging a hand down his face. “We can’t change everything overnight. She’ll fight us if we try.”

“Then we don’t make it about her,” I say, my voice firm. “Not directly, anyway. We start small. We fix what we can without stepping on her toes. Reinforce the house, add some security measures. Get her some damn blankets, cushions, whatever it takes to make this place livable. We can use the excuse that the storm will knock the power out and it’ll get cold.”

“And when she pushes back?” Dane asks, raising an eyebrow.

“She will,” Xar mutters. “You know she will.”

“Then we don’t let her push us away,” I say, holding their gazes. “Not this time. She can argue all she wants, but we’re not leaving her like this. She deserves more, even if she doesn’t think so. If we have to, we’ll say the stuff is for us. Despite how hostile she’s trying to appear, she’s actually very sweet, and I know she wouldn’t let us suffer in a storm. She’ll have to let us stay, right?”

There’s a beat of silence before Dane sighs, his lips twitching in reluctant agreement. “We’ll make a list,” he says. “Supplies, repairs, whatever else she needs. I’m sure we can venture out before things get too bad, but we’ll have to be quick about it.”

Xar nods, his expression grim but determined. “And we’ll make sure she’s not alone in this storm. Not now, not ever again.”

I glance back at Eviana, her peaceful face softened by sleep, and something inside me aches. She’s fought so hard to survive on her own, but she shouldn’t have to. Not anymore.

For tonight, we’ll let her rest. But come morning, we’re changing everything – starting with the way she sees herself.

Xar stands abruptly, his eyes fixed on Eviana’s sleeping form. I watch him with a frown as he moves toward the sofa, his steps careful, deliberate.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice low but sharp enough to cut through the quiet.

Without answering, Xar kneels beside the sofa, his hand brushing lightly over the patchwork quilt tucked around her. His expression softens, his usual sharp edges replaced by something I don’t think I’ve ever seen from him – tenderness.

“Xar,” I press, my tone more demanding now.

He glances at me briefly before shifting, climbing onto the sofa next to her. The space is cramped, and his movements are slow, cautious, as though he’s afraid to wake her. Settling himself, he wraps an arm gently around her shoulders and pulls her against his chest, tucking her under his chin.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, stepping closer.

Xar sighs, his free hand stroking lightly over her hair as a deep, rumbling purr vibrates in his chest. “She’s touch-starved, Blaise,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “Look around you. Everything here screams isolation – she’s been denying her omega everything, even comfort. If she’s been living without soft things, without warmth, she’s definitely been living without touch out here on her own.”

My chest tightens at his words, but I force the discomfort down, folding my arms over my chest. “She’ll lose it if she wakes up and finds you like that.”

“She won’t wake up,” Xar replies, his voice steady. “She’s too exhausted. And even if she did, it’s me, Blaise. She already trusts me more than either of you. If anyone can do this without her freaking out, it’s me.”

I grit my teeth, knowing he’s right, but the truth still stings. It’s not jealousy – I don’t think it is, anyway. It’s just…frustration. Frustration that I didn’t think of it first. That I can’tbe the one to give her what she needs right now. That I don’t have that kind of relationship with her. Yet.

Maybe if I hadn’t frozen and panicked, I could have been the one to hold her in the bath and watch her come round. Maybe then she’d trust me a little more and I could be the one holding her and comforting her while she slept.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.