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“I—I came from my mate’s home,” I stammer, the words sticky and uncertain. He nods, jotting that down, patience radiating from his posture.

“When did you leave?” he prompts, coaxing me along step by step. I tell him as best I can, piecing together the fractured timeline. He listens, probing gently, “Did you come straight here? Was anyone with you?”

His questions are unobtrusive, threading through the fog of my distress, each one a lifeline pulling me back toward reality.

“What made you come home?” he asks next, his eyes searching mine for clarity.

The answer tumbles out of my mouth, unobstructed and unbothered.

I just wanted to be home, to find the comfort of my space and the familiarity, never expecting to find it in ruins.

He reassures me with a nod, his pen moving quietly, never rushing me. The sequence of the last day emerges in halting fragments, but he remains steady, piecing it together with the practiced calm of someone who has seen devastation before and knows how to gather the broken pieces.

I tell him about Al and the attack yesterday.

I show him the back of my head. He parts my hair to get a closer look, and the sound of three alphas growling stops him from probing further.

Knox, Boone, and Tripp do not like another male touching me, especially if the night at the nightclub means anything.

Only when the worst of it recedes do I realize how fiercely I’ve clung to Knox, my fists tangled in his shirt, my breath hiccupping against his skin. I go to release him, but he doesn’t let me. Instead, his grip grows impossibly tighter, holding me to him.

The officer takes a final note, then looks up at me with a gentle firmness. “Thank you for telling me all this,” he says quietly. “I’ll make sure to file a report tonight, both about the break-in here and what happened yesterday. We’ll follow up on both incidents—I promise.”

He offers the faintest smile of reassurance, his words a small anchor amid the swirl of fear and confusion. Knox’s arms stay locked around me, as if he, too, draws comfort from the officer. I nod again, trying to let the truth of his promise settle somewhere beneath my battered composure.

“I am going to take a look around before I head out. I will be taking pictures of the home and the back of your head. Do you think it was your boss who did this?”

“I have no enemies,” I reply in a whisper. “The only person that remotely has anything out for me is Al.”

The cop nods. He goes behind me and takes a picture of the back of my head, and then goes around the house taking various pictures of my ruined contents. He’s methodical and precise in his picture-taking. He takes his time and goes through everything.

“I’m scared to see what my bedroom looks like,” I tell Knox.

“We’re right here with you, little omega,” he assures me, slowly helping me stand and make my way to my bedroom, where the door is hanging off its hinges.

Knox’s arms cling to me, a warm, steady pressure as we approach the bedroom. Each step is unhurried, the hush in the hall broken only by the erratic beat of my heart. When we reach the threshold, Knox pauses, his presence a quiet barrier against the unknown inside.

He nudges the door with his foot, the hinges still connected, groaning weakly, and guides me in.

The sight awaiting us is a graveyard. There are clothes shredded and flung across the floor.

The mattress is slashed open and lying halfway off the bedframe.

There are drawers upended, my treasures scattered and broken.

The familiar scent of home is drowned out by the raw sting of destruction, the air heavy with dust and loss.

A sound claws its way up from my chest—a small, fractured cry, trembling and sharp. My knees buckle, but Knox is there, arms tightening around me, anchoring me as I sway. Tears blur the room into a watercolor of sorrow, the weight of it all pressing down until I can hardly breathe.

“I … Get me out of here. Please.” I hold onto Knox as if he’s my lifeline. In a way, he is. If it weren’t for him holding me up, I’d be a puddle on the floor right now.

Knox may have hurt me, but he’s here. He’s here and protecting me as much as he possibly can. His strength and caring hold me together.

Somehow, Knox becomes my anchor in a storm I never asked for.

His arms don’t loosen, even when the chaos is not his to shoulder, and my pain is no debt he owes.

He holds me to him, not because he must, but because something in him refuses to let me bear the wreckage alone.

There’s no bargain between us. I owe him nothing, and he expects nothing in return.

Yet, in every trembling breath, every step away from the devastation, it’s his steady presence that keeps me from unraveling completely.

Knox never hurries me, never pulls away, even though he could, even though I would understand if he did.

He didn’t sign on for this. He doesn’t owe me a thing.

But instead, he stays—solid, unwavering—a warmth pressed against my side, a reminder that even in the ruins, I am not abandoned.

The world tilts, but his grip is sure, holding me together when it would be so easy to let go.

“Let’s get her out of here, guys. She needs to go home and rest,” Knox barks the order, the other two falling in line behind us.

The words press at the back of my throat, bitter and sharp: I want to tell Knox that his home isn’t mine, that no matter how warm his arms are, I don’t belong to him.

But the truth is, my own home is gone—shredded, ruined, nothing left but broken pieces and ghosts.

The other truth is, I do belong to him, to them.

And that scares the hell out of me because, at the end of the day, I’ve never belonged anywhere before.

I have nothing now, nowhere to claim as my own.

The walls that held my memories have collapsed, and all that’s left is the emptiness I carry with me.

The ache spills out between us, silent but heavy.

I wish I could pretend otherwise, but even as I try to hold on to what’s left, all I can do is cling to him and wonder where I’m supposed to go when I have nowhere left.

I must’ve said that last part out loud because in the next minute, I feel Knox’s lips press against the top of my head, and then he says, “You’re going home with us, which is where you belong.”

Everything after that unspools in a haze. I drift through the motions, half-carried and half-led, the world muffled at the edges as we make our way to the car. The slam of the door, the low hum of the engine—these things register distantly, details slipping through my grasp like water.

Outside, the city flickers past in streaks of color and shadow, but none of it feels real. Knox’s hand stays wrapped around mine, steady and grounding, but even his warmth feels far away, as if I’m looking at my own life through thick glass.

I don’t remember the ride itself, only the sensation of movement and the soft, measured voices that fill the silence. By the time we arrive, the weight of exhaustion has pressed me into the seat, my body numb, my mind unraveling in slow spirals.

We reach their house, and somehow, I’m inside without recalling how I got from the car to the door.

Everything is a blur—just fragments of footsteps, arms guiding me, hushed reassurances murmured close to my ear.

I let myself be moved, let myself be cared for, because fighting it would take more strength than I have left.

“Tripp, you and Boone take her to your room. She needs comfort and care right now.” Knox goes to let go, but I clutch him tighter. He gives my head a small kiss, whispering, “Go with them, sweetheart. I have to take care of a few things.”

“Where are you going?” Boone asks.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Just know, I’m taking care of it,” Knox replies ominously as he hands me off to Boone and Tripp.

I look back over my shoulder as they lead me away. Knox, even with his stoic persona and rigid stance, gives me a wink, as if to say all will be okay when he’s finished.