Page 110 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

Idris: Finish eating.

Callie groans, but she picks up her spoon.

Theo

I curl up beside Idris’ desk with my phone still open in my hand, Sloane’s jacket wrapped around me. The office has dimmed, late afternoon pressing gray against the windows. Somewhere outside the door, someone speaks quietly into a phone, and the printer near Lena’s desk starts and stops.

Blackline smells like glass cleaner, coffee, toner, Idris, and the last soft traces of Callie’s soup clinging to the conference room. My fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket Callie said I could keep as I press my face into it and take a deep breath.

Voices continue moving beyond Idris’ office door. Sloane’s is lower than usual, all work and weight, and Idris answers him in the even tone that means he is looking at three problems at once and already knows which one he will solve first. I drift under the sound, warm and full and tired from lunch, with lemon frosting still sweet at the back of my tongue.

When I wake, the office is quieter. The light has changed against the glass wall, turning late and gold over the floor. I blink at Idris’ desk first, then the chair where Sloane should be, then the door, my body searching before my mind catches up.

Callie isn't here. I push up on one elbow, dragging the blanket with me, and the sweater slips from my shoulder into my lap. My scent spikes before I can smooth it down.

Idris looks up from the file in his hand, seated behind his desk, his sleeves still rolled, tie gone now, with Sloane standing near the window and reading something from his phone. Both of them go still at the same time, like my panic touched their skin before I said anything.

“Where’s Callie?” My voice comes out sleep-rough and too young, so I clear my throat and sit up higher. “She was here.”

“She went home with Dash after lunch,” Idris says, setting the file down instead of keeping it in his hands. His chair turns toward me, and the whole room seems to turn with him. “You fell asleep before she left, sweetheart.”

I remember her fingers in my hair. I remember her saying something soft near my ear, something about seeing me at home, and I remember trying to answer before sleep pulled me under. The memory helps, but it does not put her back where my body wants her.

Sloane crosses the room and crouches beside the nest. He does not touch me right away, which makes me ache and feel steadier at the same time. “She kissed your forehead before she went. You made a sound at her and grabbed my jacket instead.”

“I did not,” I say, but I am holding the jacket against my chest when I say it. My cheeks warm, and Sloane’s mouth softens without turning into a smile that would make me feel handled.

“You did.” Idris rises and comes around the desk. His hand settles at the back of my neck, warm and certain, and I lean into it before I can decide whether I mean to. “You needed sleep more than another transition.”

I look toward the door again. The office is safe, and the little nest is good, and both of my Alphas are here, but Callie isn't in the room. My body keeps reaching for her scent and finding only the pieces she left behind.

“I want to go home,” I say.

Sloane nods once, already reaching for the jacket that isn't trapped in my hands. “Then we’ll go home.”

Idris watches me for another breath. “Can you stand, or do you need a minute?”

“I can stand.” I push the blanket off and immediately regret moving too fast, because sleep is still heavy in my arms and thighs. Sloane catches the blanket before it falls, and Idris’ hand stays at my nape until the room steadies.

Getting out of the office takes longer than it should because my body keeps trying to search every corner for Callie. I check the conference room when we pass it, even though I know she isn't there, and I look at the elevator doors like she might step out of them if I stare hard enough. I keep her sweater tucked against my chest with both hands because it still smells faintly like her skin and the soap from our bathroom.

Sloane notices before we make it to the hall. His shoulder brushes mine, and instead of teasing me, he slows until I don't have to hurry to stay between him and Idris. “Sweetheart,” he says gently, reaching for the elevator button. “She didn’t disappear.”

“I know.” My answer comes too fast, so I press my mouth into the sweater and breathe again. “I know where she is.”

Idris stands on my other side, as his hand settles at the back of my neck, while the elevator doors slide open. “Knowing where she is does not mean your body believes it yet.”

I step inside with them, and Sloane keeps my hand in his once the doors close. His thumb moves over my knuckles while the numbers begin to drop, slow enough that every floor feels like it is taking something from me.

“She kissed you before she left,” Sloane says. His voice is low, meant for the small space between us. “You were mostly asleep, but she waited until you settled again.”

“She said she’d see me at home.” I look down at our hands, then at Idris’ reflection in the elevator doors. “I remember that part.”

“Good.” Idris’ thumb presses once beneath my jaw before his hand returns to my nape. “Hold on to that part.”

The ride down still feels too long. My thoughts keep slipping ahead of us, past the lobby, past the car, past the road, all the way to the house, where Callie might be in the kitchen with her hair clipped up badly because she thinks that counts as putting it away. Dash will be near her, sleeves pushed up, doing something practical with his hands while she talks herself into helping even after everyone tells her to sit.

“I don’t like waking up without her,” I admit.