Page 46 of Omega's Formula

We sit there for a while, not talking. Just existing together, the way we have since we were kids. Eventually her eyes start to droop—the medications make her tired—and I ease my hand free.

“I should let you rest.”

“Mm.” She’s already half asleep. “Nolan?”

“Yeah?”

Be careful. With the alpha.” Her voice is slurring, fading. “Don’t let him hurt you.”

“I won’t.”

But even as I say it, I’m not sure it’s true. I already know that Erik Nilsson is going to break my heart.

12. Erik

The hospital lobby is bright and sterile and smells like antiseptic. I’ve been nursing the same coffee for forty minutes, watching people shuffle past and trying not to think about what happened in the woods.

I kissed him.

Not like yesterday, when everything was heat and anger and I could blame it on the unexpected. This morning I made a choice. I saw the want in his eyes, knew exactly what I was doing, and kissed him anyway.

I can still feel his hands fisting in my shirt. Still taste him on my lips.

This is what the Bureau wanted. It’s why they’re insisting on us being in close proximity. It’s working. We’ve been living together a day and a half and we had sex within the first five minutes and that’s not even counting that kiss in the woods this morning which somehow felt even more intimate.

The coffee has gone cold. I drink it anyway, grimacing at the bitterness, and check the time. Nolan’s been upstairs for over an hour. Visiting hours are typically two hours, so he should be down soon. We haven’t had a ping from the Bureau yet, but it could come in at any minute.

I think about Ellie, the sister he’s doing all of this for. I’ve seen her file. Sara pulled the records when we first started the matching process. Her prognosis was grim without intervention.The experimental treatment she’s undergoing is her best shot at a normal life.

Nolan hates me. I don’t know what to do with that.

The elevator chimes and Nolan steps out and I know immediately that something is wrong.

His face is pale, jaw tight, eyes red-rimmed in a way that suggests he’s been crying or fighting not to. He walks toward me with stiff, mechanical steps, like he’s holding himself together through sheer force of will.

“Ready to go?” I ask carefully.

“Yeah.”

One word. Flat. Empty.

I don’t push. We walk to the car in silence, slide into the backseat with the usual careful distance between us. The driver pulls away from the hospital and Nolan turns to stare out the window, presenting me with the back of his head.

This silence is different from last night. Last night was careful and, controlled, both of us navigating around the elephant in the room, pretending we weren’t thinking about each other. This is something else. Something heavier.

He’s upset.

Not angry, not defensive. Just... hurt. I can see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his hand curls into a fist on his thigh. Something happened upstairs with Ellie.

“Did everything go okay?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral. “With your sister?”

A long pause. Then: “She knows.”

“Knows what?”

“About the marriage.” He doesn’t turn from the window. “Someone at the hospital was gossiping. She found out before I could tell her.”

I close my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it. Whatever else Nolan might be—infuriating, impossible, achingly desirable—it’s clear that he loves his sister. Having her find out this way, from strangers, must have been devastating.