Page 28 of Lock

Slate’s voice crackled through the comm from outside, his bike taking point ahead of us.

“Half a mile to the compound. Cameras are down. Path clear.”

“Copy,” Grim said.

The van hit a bump. I tightened my grip on Kellan’s waist to keep him from jolting. His fingers twitched once against my shirt, then went still.

Wraith leaned forward from the back row, bracing an elbow on his knee. His tone was maddeningly calm. “He dead?”

“No.” I adjusted his head so it didn’t snap sideways with the turns. “Just overheated… and I guess shit caught up with him. Omegas hide stress until they can’t. He was too calm before anyway.”

Jett drove. Grim rode shotgun. Wraith sat behind us, too calm as always. Fuse was wedged in the other row with the breach bag at his feet.

Wraith made a thoughtful sound. “Cute problem to have.”

“Shut up,” I muttered.

He did… but he didn’t look away.

The van slowed, crunching gravel under the tires, and before it fully stopped, I was already pulling Kellan tighter. I steadied his head so it wouldn’t knock against anything. The door slid open, letting cold air in. Wraith didn’t move, and neither Fuse nor Grim offered to take him from me; they both shifted automatically, giving me space without needing a word.

Home.

The second it stopped, I was lifting him.

“I’ve got him,” I said before anyone else could reach out to help me.

No one argued.

I slid my arms under him and picked him up. He was light… too light. His head rested against my shoulder again, his breath warm on my skin. My pulse kicked hard…

Outside, the night air was cold.

“Holy shit,” someone whispered near the garage.

“Is that?—”

I shot them a look, and the rest died in their throats.

Good.

I didn’t want eyes on him… or their scents anywhere near his.

I used the side entrance, the quiet one, avoiding the main common room. The hallway lights were bright after the dark van. But Kellan didn’t stir. He stayed limp against me, one hand curled loosely near my collar.

Ember stepped out of the kitchen as I passed. Wraith’s old lady could read a battlefield in a heartbeat, and her gaze went straight to the omega in my arms.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Is that…?”

“Kellan,” I said.

She blinked. “He looks?—”

“Don’t say small,” I warned.

“I was going to say fragile,” she corrected mildly. “But sure.”

I pushed past the spike of protectiveness and kept walking. “Infirmary.”