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He pauses, mug still in hand.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

His voice is low, not loud, not teasing—just tired and sharp like glass at the edge of a blade.

I glance up from my seat at the table. “Drop it.”

Ambrose lifts a brow, sips his tea like I didn’t speak. “You look like something clawed its way out of you and forgot to put the pieces back.”

“That’s because something did,” Silas chirps from the counter, positively vibrating with the need to gossip. “A sweet, curvy little something with teeth and thighs and no concept of moderation.”

I shoot him a glare sharp enough to kill.

It bounces off him like light.

“Oh, come on,” he continues, eyes wide with faux innocence. “Why do you all act like I’m not the most observant person here? He’s glowing. He’s defiled. He’s ruined for anyone else.”

“I’m going to break your jaw,” I say calmly.

“Wouldn’t change the facts,” he beams.

Ambrose sets his mug down a little harder than necessary and turns toward me, arms crossed, mouth drawn tight. “So? You gonna say anything, or should I start drawing conclusions?”

“No one’s asking you to draw anything,” I snap.

“Not what it looked like from the outside,” Ambrose counters. “You looked like you hadn’t slept in days. Now you look like you haven’t slept but for entirely different reasons.”

Elias chimes in from behind his mug. “I’m just impressed she didn’t kill you afterward. Or during.”

“Yet,” Riven mutters without looking up.

And still, none of them say it directly.

None of them ask the question I know they’re all thinking.

Not until Silas—because it’s always Silas—tilts his head and smiles wide enough to show teeth.

“So?” he asks, grinning. “Is she coming home?”

The room stills. Just a little. I sip my tea, slow and deliberate.

“She hasn’t said,” I answer, and I hate the way the words taste like they matter.

Silas raises both brows. “But you want her to.”

I meet his gaze with a look flat and cold. “Careful.”

“Oh, I’m always careful,” he says sweetly. “Except when I’m not.”

Ambrose exhales, quiet, steady. “You realize this entire thing’s been on hold because of you.”

“Because of her,” I correct, too fast. Too sharp.

Ambrose narrows his eyes. “You’re the one who made it impossible for her to stay. Now you’re the one who wants her back and can’t ask.”

I don’t want her back because it’s strategic. I don’t want her under the same roof again because it makes sense, or because she’s safer here, or because the others miss her.

I want her close so I can have her.