Page 46

As I read through the report, my stomach sank. I’d taken her word that she wanted nothing to do with me. When she dropped out of the public eye altogether, I’d been concerned, but not enough to violate her wishes.

The report flayed me open.

Tully had been living with Fenella for eight months and there was barely any record of her. Grant had access to her accounts, and there was nothing in there that spoke to the enormous inheritance she should have.

I was missing pieces.

My chest ached to see how meager and worn what little belongings she had were. It reminded me of Lloyd when he first moved in with a solitary backpack. When the bag split at Ajax’s historical society, I noticed how worn the pens and pencils she was using were. So, I stopped by a boutique art store and bought everything the attendant recommended after work.

My skin had been tight by the time I got home, wanting to lay eyes on the diminutive omega. Only to be informed, she had gone to bed shortly after I left and hadn’t resurfaced. I knew seeing her parents’ memorial on the news report had upset her.

I needed to talk to her. To work out why Tully Hartlock had been living in that run-down apartment.

My gaze flickered to the doorway, where a whisper shuffled across the floor. Tully rounded the corner, and my heart crashed against my ribcage. She wore an oversized shirt, and the hem brushed the top of her knees. She brought her fist to her mouth, stifling a yawn. Her bleary steps stuttered to a stop as she narrowed her gaze at the fridge. Tucked under her arm was that bullet journal.

“Did you want me to fix you something?” I asked.

Tully whirled with her hand planted against her chest. A nervous expression flickered on her face, but she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Walden, you scared me,” she breathed.

“Did you sleep well? You must be starving.”

Color flooded her cheeks, and she muttered a nonsensical excuse. My instincts flared at her dodging my question, but my interrogation dried on my tongue as Tully spotted the pens and art supplies.

Her Hartlock eyes widened, mesmerizing. Her scent thickened, and I tasted it in the back of my throat. I didn’t care for sweet foods, but her fig and honey was irresistible.

“What’s all this?” Tully fingered the pens.

“A present from me.” I nudged the bag over to her.

I bit my tongue, halting the questions hoarded on it. Was she truly going to pretend there was nothing wrong? Heat rippled under my skin.

Hushed awe escaped her lips as the stickers, pencils, and various other crafty things came into view. Her eyes turned glossy as she flipped over a pack of fine-tip pastel pens. She put her journal to the side.

“I hope I didn’t overstep; the pens you had seemed a little worse for wear.” I wished she would say something,anything.But the gift snapped her into silence, and she sifted through the bag without replying.

“It’s too much.” I ground my teeth.

Of course. Hadn’t Pan told me a million times to stop smothering him with gifts? My instincts wanted to bulldoze her into the safety of my arms. I could take such good care of her, if she let me.That wasn’t my place.A small part of me protested, but I batted it away. I owed it to her with our history, and she obviously had no one else.

I should have gone to work. She scattered my morose thoughts by covering my hand with hers.

“Thank you,” Tully said, staring down at our plastered hands. “These pens are so expensive, and I was busy saving up—” she trailed off, and jerked her hand backward.

Tully slumped into the chair beside me. I gripped the table, torn between wanting to be honest and bring back the rapidly dulling spark in her eye.

“Tully,” I whispered. “Are we really not going to talk about what happened?”

All the joy from the simple gift vanished, replaced by a blank mask. I had the strangest notion that if I reached inside, the shell of her body would be full of shadows and whispers. She didn’t want to have this conversation. But the weight of her hurt was heavy in my stomach.

“Talk about what?” Her eyebrows jammed together.

I put my hand out, palm up on the table, hoping without hope she might take it. She eyed me with cracked composure. The silence between us was cruel. She hovered with the terror of the unknown, and I didn’t know how to articulate that she never had to hide from me.

Growing up with three omega sisters helped me to understand the nuanced needs omegas had. She’d grown into a beautiful woman, but there was a fragility in her. I wanted to pull her into my arms and let her rest until she found her strength once more.Found her spark. Tully fought against her instincts, eyeing my hand and the comfort it offered with suspicion.

“If I’d known you were struggling, I would have helped.” I dragged my hand back, my palm tingled with rejection.