Page 94 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

I save the picture before I answer.

Me: Okay, sweetheart.

By the end of the week, the house feels crowded in a way I’ve missed.

Sloane keeps catching me by the waist when I pass him. Idris pulls me into his lap whenever I stand near his chair for more than a few seconds. Dash brushes his hand over my lower back as he moves behind me and rarely passes through a doorway without kissing my shoulder. Theo climbs into my lap with complete confidence, rearranging my limbs until he’s comfortable enough to stay.

No one is treating touch like a fragile object anymore. They still watch me. They still pause when my body tightens or my eyes drift toward an exit. The difference is that wanting me has stopped looking like something they’re ashamed to show.

On Friday evening, I walk into the living room and find all four of them waiting. The sight makes me stop.

Theo sits cross-legged in the middle of the couch with my cream cardigan wrapped around him. Dash is in the chair near the window, one ankle resting over his knee, though the stiffness in his shoulders gives away that he’s paying attention to every movement in the room. Idris stands near the fireplace with his sleeves rolled to his forearms. Sloane is pacing beside the coffee table with a small black box in his hand.

The box explains nothing. I look from it to the flowers on the side table, then to the green mug Dash brought me, then to the scarf folded over the arm of the couch. “You all keep bringing me things.”

Sloane stops pacing.

“And every time I turn around,” I continue, “someone has their mouth on me.”

Theo’s smile appears first. Dash lowers his gaze, though I catch the warmth in his face before he hides it. Idris' expression barely shifts, but his eyes move over my body with enough intent to make heat gather low in my stomach.

Sloane looks at me like the answer should be obvious. “We’re courting you.”

The words go through me slowly.

I’m wearing Sloane’s bite in my shoulder. Idris has known the shape of my submission and the exact way I take my tea. Theo has slept with his face pressed into my neck and his fingers curled into my clothes. Dash gave me a place to survive before any of them knew where I was.

Still, they’re courting me.

They aren’t assuming the bonds we had mean I owe them the same woman they lost. They’re coming toward the person I am now with flowers, books, mugs, pastries, touches, kisses, and patience.

My throat tightens before I can answer.

Sloane’s fingers flex around the black box. “This part isn’t supposed to buy anything from you.”

“I know.” My voice catches, and I take a slow breath before crossing the room. “Show me.”

He sits on the edge of the coffee table while I lower myself onto the couch beside Theo. Theo immediately presses against my side, his hand sliding into mine beneath the sleeve of my cardigan. Dash moves closer from the chair, and Idris comes to stand behind the couch with one hand resting against my shoulder.

Sloane opens the box.

The necklace inside is delicate enough that I would have chosen it for myself. A thin platinum chain holds a small round moonstone, the surface pale and iridescent when he lifts it into the light. It looks intimate, like something an Alpha might give a mate because he wants to see it resting against her throat.

My fingers hover over the stone before touching it. “What does it do?”

“It’s an existing command-interruption pendant,” Sloane says. “Kade checked the security specifications and confirmed it doesn’t transmit or store anything.”

I turn the moonstone between my fingertips. “Does it stop the command?”

“No.” Idris answers from behind me, his hand moving from my shoulder to the side of my neck. “It disrupts the first biological response. It gives you a second to recognize what is happening and choose what you do next.”

Dash leans forward, forearms resting against his thighs. “It doesn’t track you. It doesn’t record anything. It can’t transmit your location or tell anyone when it activates.”

Sloane looks at me as the questions form. “It doesn’t choose for you. It won’t make you believe us, and it won’t make you resist if you decide to follow an instruction. It only protects the space where your no lives.”

Garrett’s voice moves through my memory, polished and quiet, telling me things that sounded like my own thoughts by the time they reached the center of me. The necklace lies cool against my palm, a physical answer to something I still struggle to name without feeling foolish for missing it.

I look at Sloane. “Does it work against you?”