Page 6 of Knot Your Karma (Not Yours #1)

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I know that. But I also know that if I don’t help him, no one else will. Our parents will blame me for not doing enough. Blake will spiral and probably make even worse decisions. And some innocent omega will end up dealing with the fallout.”

“Nova?” Reed asks.

“Yeah.” I think about Blake’s girlfriend—sweet, trusting, completely unaware of what she’s getting into. “She seems really nice. Sweet. She doesn’t deserve to have her bonding ceremony destroyed because Blake’s an idiot.”

“Ah,” Reed says with understanding. “So this is about protecting Blake’s girlfriend, not Blake.”

I pause, considering that. The tight knots between my shoulder blades start to ease.

“Maybe. Partly. But it’s also about doing what’s right. The compass belongs to our family. It should be part of family traditions, not sitting in some collector’s private display case.”

“All right,” Reed says, and I can hear him shifting into planning mode. “So what’s the actual plan? And please tell me it’s more specific than wander around asking antique dealers if they’ve seen a compass. ”

“You’re okay with this?”

“I think you’re making this way harder on yourself than it needs to be,” Reed says. “But if you need backup, we’ve got your back. That’s what pack does, even when you’re being a noble idiot.”

“Especially when you’re being a noble idiot,” Adrian adds with dry humor. “Someone has to keep you from doing anything too stupid.”

My scent settles into something warm and grateful, like coming home after a long day. This is why pack matters—this right here. Reed and Adrian think I’m making the wrong choice, but they’re still here. Still ready to support me even when I’m being an idiot about Blake.

“Thank you,” I say. “Both of you.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Reed says. “What’s the actual plan here? Because I’m hoping it involves more than just you wandering around small-town Rhode Island asking random people about maritime antiques.”

I move to the window again. My feet just keep taking me there, like the antique shop corner pulls my attention like a magnet I can’t see.

“I need to retrace Blake’s steps, figure out exactly how the compass went missing. Talk to more dealers, check estate sale records, maybe put out some feelers with collectors.”

“Sounds like a lot of detective work,” Adrian says. “You planning to handle this alone?”

“Actually...” I touch the glass, and I can almost smell vanilla and sea salt carried on the salt air three stories down. “ I was hoping you guys would come up here. Help me track this thing down.”

“Where’s here?” Reed asks.

“Anchor’s Rest, Rhode Island. Small coastal town, pretty enough, but not much happening in the fall. Could be good to have backup.”

“What kind of backup are we talking about?” Adrian asks. “Emotional support or actual investigative help?”

“Both. And maybe fresh perspectives. I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Missing something how?”

I think about today—all those dealers with their careful responses, everyone being just a little too helpful. Like they were all reading from the same script or something.

“I think someone knows more than they’re telling me. One of the dealers I talked to today... her reaction was off. Like she knew exactly what I was looking for before I finished describing it.”

“Suspicious off or just I deal with stolen goods off?” Reed asks.

“That’s what I need help figuring out. She gave me her card, said she’d keep an eye out, but something felt rehearsed about the whole conversation.”

I pull Sage Morrison’s business card from my wallet and stare at it. The paper is expensive, cream-colored, elegant lettering. Too elegant for someone who supposedly just handles estate sale pieces.

“What’s her name?”

“Sage Morrison. Deals in estate sale pieces, has a reputation for handling unusual items.”

“Unusual how?”

“The kind of unusual that doesn’t ask too many questions about where things came from.”

There’s a pause while Reed and Adrian process this .

“So you think she might have handled the compass?” Adrian asks.

“Maybe. Or maybe she knows who did.”

“Either way, it sounds like we need to have a conversation with Ms. Morrison,” Reed says. “When do you want us there?”

“Tomorrow, if you can manage it. I’ve got a few more leads to follow up on, including...” I pause, my chest tightening as I think about hazel eyes and careful hands moving through maritime displays.

I need to tell them about Karma.

“Including what?” Reed prompts.

“There’s this other dealer. Runs a shop called What Goes Around. Specializes in maritime antiques.”

“And?”

“And nothing. She was helpful, knowledgeable, said she’d keep an eye out for anything matching the compass description.”

“But?”

Heat crawls up my neck, and I’m grateful they can’t see my face. “But I can’t stop thinking about her.”

The silence on the other end of the line is deafening.

“Oh no,” Reed says finally. “Oh, this is happening, isn’t it? You met someone. I can hear it in your voice—that I’m definitely about to make this situation exponentially more complicated tone.”

“I’m not making anything more complicated.”

“Dec,” Reed continues with growing horror and amusement, “please tell me you did not just catch feelings for someone involved in your brother’s mess.”

“I didn’t catch feelings.” I lean my forehead against the window. “I just... there was something about her. Something about her scent.”

“Omega?” Adrian asks.

“Yeah. But not just any omega. There was something...” My pulse jumps as I remember vanilla and sea salt, the way it made my protective instincts go quiet and alert at the same time. “Familiar. Like I’d been looking for that particular scent my whole life.”

“Oh, fuck,” Reed says with feeling. “Dec, please tell me you didn’t just meet our mate while investigating your brother’s missing heirloom. Please tell me this isn’t turning into some kind of cosmic joke.”

“I didn’t meet my mate.” I lie because deep down I already know who Karma is to us.

“You sure about that? Because you sound like a man who just got hit by the mate recognition truck.”

I close my eyes and let myself remember—the way Karma’s expertise lit up her whole face, how she moved through her shop like she belonged there, the way my alpha instincts went quiet and protective the moment I caught her scent.

“Okay, maybe I’m not completely sure. But even if I did... I can’t explain it. There was something about her that felt important. Like she’s connected to all this somehow.”

“Connected how?” Adrian asks.

“I have no idea. But my gut says she knows more than she told me.”

“Your gut or your alpha instincts?” Reed asks.

“Both.”

“Well, this isn’t going to be complicated at all,” Reed says cheerfully. “Oh, I love this game. Let me guess—she’s gorgeous, sweet, knows exactly what she’s talking about, and probably has some kind of mysterious past that’s going to make your life infinitely more difficult.”

“This isn’t a game, Reed,” Adrian says.

“You’re right, it’s better than a game. It’s like a Hallmark movie, but with more theft and family dysfunction.”

A car drives down Main Street below, headlights sweeping across the antique shop’s dark windows .

“All right,” Adrian says, cutting through Reed’s commentary. “We’ll be there tomorrow. But Dec?”

“Yeah?”

“If this omega turns out to be involved in Blake’s mess, you need to be prepared for the possibility that she’s not what she seems.”

Cold dread pools in my stomach, cutting through the warmth of remembering Karma’s smile. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if your instincts are telling you she’s important, there’s probably a reason. And that reason might not be romantic. It might be that she’s the key to finding out what really happened to that compass.”

The words hit like ice water. Because Adrian’s right—my instincts are rarely wrong about people. And if Karma Rose is connected to the missing compass, if she knows something about how it disappeared...

“I’ll text you the address of the inn,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “And guys? Thanks. For having my back even when you think I’m being an idiot.”

“That’s what pack does,” Reed says. “Even when you’re absolutely being a noble, self-sacrificing idiot who’s about to fall for a potentially shady antique dealer.”

“I’m not falling for anyone.”

“Sure you’re not,” Adrian says with dry humor. “See you tomorrow, Dec. Try not to do anything too stupid before we get there.”

“Define too stupid.”

“Anything involving your heart, your hormones, or any more conversations with Blake,” Reed says immediately.

“That’s very specific.”

“I know my audience. Love you, you disaster.”

“Love you too, Reed.”

The line goes dead, and I’m alone with the sound of waves and my own breathing. I set the phone on the nightstand and pull up the map on my phone, tracing the route from Blake’s old apartment to the dealers I visited today.

Maritime Antiques & More—twelve blocks. Harborside Collections—eight blocks. What Goes Around?—

My finger stops moving.

Six blocks. A straight shot down Elm Street.

The phone slips in my suddenly sweaty palm.