Page 8 of A Cobbled Conspiracy

“Thomas Wong?” Adelaide looked surprised. “You know about his work on that project?“

“Just that he was working on it and several other historical preservation projects and then vanished.” I thought about the research I’d done during those sleepless nights, trying to understand the pressure campaigns targeting district businesses. “What was in those files that someone would steal them fifty years later?”

“I don’t know,” Adelaide admitted. “But I made copies of some of the more interesting documents years ago, for a historical exhibit that never happened. If you think they might be relevant to what’s happening now…”

Blake’s expression sharpened. “We’d very much like to see those copies.”

Adelaide led us through the damage, pointing out overturned filing cabinets and empty archive boxes. The conversation continued around me, but my attention drifted to the mating mark on my neck. It was pulling again, that strange tugging sensation that felt like Dominic was trying to communicate across the distance. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the feeling.

Irritation. Fierce protectiveness. A steady current of need that made my chest tight.

Hold on,I thought, pressing my fingers to the mark.I’m going to bring you home, my alpha.

CHAPTER THREE

Two days after the bail hearing, I woke up reaching for my alpha before I remembered he wasn’t there.

Seven days total now.

The mating bond pulled tight in my chest with unfamiliar intensity, reminding me with every heartbeat that my mate was locked away somewhere I couldn’t reach him. We’d only had three days together after the auction—three days of overwhelming passion and tentative exploration of what this bond meant—before they’d torn him away from me.

My phone buzzed with a text.

Penny

Bringing pastries from Rosie’s. Don’t even think about skipping breakfast again.

I smiled despite the persistent ache in my chest. Penny had been badgering me to eat since Dominic’s arrest, tempting me with my favorite foods and forcing normalcy into days that feltanything but normal. His friendship was one of the few things keeping me functional.

My phone buzzed again, this time a text from Blake:

2PM appointment confirmed. Private visitation approved under omega welfare statutes. I’ll pick you up at 1:00.

My heart lurched. After two days of arguing, pleading, and outright stubbornness since the devastating bail hearing, Blake had finally managed to arrange a private visitation. The Omega Protection Act required accommodations for newly mated pairs, though “private” was relative—Blake would have to serve as chaperone, and there would still be guards and cameras. But it meant I could scent Dominic properly, could confirm if he was truly okay.

Both Blake and Dominic had been adamant that I shouldn’t visit at all—too dangerous, too public, too risky for an omega who’d recently been through a heat with his new mate. The media attention around Dominic’s case made everything more complicated.

But I’d worn them down with persistence and the kind of stubborn determination that came from a mating bond screaming at me to check on my alpha. The need to see Dominic, to confirm he was safe, had become a physical ache that rivaled the bond separation itself.

I pulled myself out of bed, muscles protesting the movement. The separation symptoms were getting worse instead of better—persistent nausea, shaking hands, and a bone-deep exhaustion that sleep couldn’t touch. Dr. Westfield had warned me thismight happen with such a new bond, but knowing the science didn’t make the reality any easier.

A shower helped marginally, though I caught myself gripping the marble tiles when a wave of dizziness hit. I needed to eat something, needed to pull myself together before seeing Dominic. He had enough to worry about without seeing how badly I was falling apart.

The kitchen smelled like coffee and something sweet when I emerged from the guest room, hair still damp from the shower. Penny had apparently arrived while I was getting ready, because he was already arranging pastries on Blake’s expensive plates and humming something cheerful under his breath.

“There you are,” he said, looking up with a bright smile that didn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes. “I brought almond croissants and those little lemon tarts you like. And tea, because you’ve been looking a bit green around the gills lately.”

“You don’t have to take care of me, Penny.”

“Someone has to.” He handed me a porcelain mug of chamomile tea that smelled like comfort in a cup.

I settled at the breakfast bar, grateful for both the tea and Penny’s presence. “How are you holding up?”

Penny’s theatrical mask slipped for just a moment. “Honestly? I’ve been better. The whole district feels wrong with everything that’s happened and I hate being away from the shop. But today’s important—you finally get to see him.”

“Blake’s probably having second thoughts as we speak,” I admitted. “He keeps reminding me about the media attention, the security risks, the fact that visiting could make me a target.”

“And?”