"I'm back, Gorgeous!" I called as I stepped through the front door, juggling two paper bags from the errands I ran that morning. It was supposed to be a peaceful day. Just me, Conan, and Canon. A little more family time. But the moment I walked into the living room, I was disappointed. There he was. The human. Mid-toast. Holding a wine glass like he belonged here. "Uhhhh," Conan blinked, caught red-handed. "Oh, your friend came over?" I tried to keep my tone neutral, but it came out clipped. Annoyed. I couldn't help it. This was supposed to be our day off. Not another day of babysitting egos. "Yeah, I thought it'd take longer for you to finish those errands," Conan said, clearly nervous. I sighed. "I can come back later, if I ruined the mood, you know." "No!" Conan jumped to his feet, rushed over and grabbed my arm. "Be nice and say hi to Alex!" I remembered Charlie's lecture. Make an effort, Levi. You're the alpha. Be the bigger person. Ugh. Fine. "First time I've seen you
I had to admit—having Levi take over the baby stuff while I took a break was the best fucking thing to ever happen. I'd slept in for three days straight without anyone trying to guilt-trip me into waking up. My back didn't ache. My head wasn't pounding. I didn't even have to bargain with a six-month-old over nap time. What a nice, boring little life I was living right now. I sat up stiffly from the couch, my neck cracking from laying on my side all day with Levi and Canon watching the third goddamn Disney movie in a row. The room was a soft mess of thrown pillows, snack crumbs, and Canon's discarded socks. "Aren't we being productive today," I muttered, glancing around the mess and at Levi, half-asleep and looking pleased about it. "Mhmm," he hummed lazily, reaching over to pull me back down beside him. Canon squealed and kicked as I lay down again. "When's the next time we get to have a proper day off?" Levi asked, eyes closed like he was already dreaming. "What's a day off?" I
Originally, I just wanted the day to be about me, Conan, and Canon—my family. A quiet, private moment to finally be together without council duties, rogue threats, or last-minute emergencies. But of course, peace had to be interrupted by one person. Aunt Mabel. For some reason, she had decided to revert back to her usual bullshit—acting like Conan was beneath her. After months of radio silence, she suddenly called me, demanding we pick her up and have a meal together like we owed her a ceremonial feast. "I really don't want to see her," Conan said flatly when I told him. "Same," I replied. "I can tell her to kick rocks if you want." "That'll only cause more trouble," he sighed. "Bring her here or something. We'll fight fire with fire, then." That made me pause. Fire with fire? What the hell did that mean? The way he said it so calmly... had he been handling my aunt behind my back this entire time? Maybe he was the reason she stayed away so long. ⸻ I drove to her house, alone,
I stood at the head of the long council chamber table, my fingers spread wide against the polished wood as I laid out the evidence like a blade at a throat. The room was cold, but the heat radiating off me could've set fire to the walls. They were all watching—every single one of them. Elder Miranda, lips tight. Elder Tom, eyes flickering with interest. Charlie sitting beside him, hands folded but tense. And Raff. Elder Raff looked bored. Good. That wouldn't last long. I let the silence build, controlled, intentional. I'd rehearsed this. Played it out in my mind a dozen times since I'd left the prison. I wanted this to feel like Law & Order, and I was the motherfucking closer. "These are the altered plans the council agreed on last week," I said, voice even. "The version we shared internally was edited—slightly. But enough that if someone leaked it, we'd know for sure we had a mole." I lifted the rogue-stamped message, crisp and damning. "This was intercepted three days ago. And
Conan slammed the evidence on the table like it was a goddamn declaration of war. "Put this proof in your pipe and smoke it, dumbass," he snapped, voice smug, breathless, and shaking slightly from either triumph or sheer exhaustion. The papers scattered across my desk like falling snow, but my eyes didn't go to the handwriting right away. I couldn't look away from him. He looked really awful. His long black hair, normally tied back so neatly, hung in limp, greasy strands clinging to his forehead. His clothes were wrinkled and stained from wear, too baggy in some places like he'd missed too many meals. The hollows under his eyes had deepened into bruised shadows, and his skin had taken on that pale, drawn look that came from too many sleepless nights. And still—he stood tall. Like always. How does he always do this? I picked up the papers. Rebecca's handwriting stared back at me, left-handed, too precise where it shouldn't have been. I didn't need Charlie to confirm it, but he
He wants fucking proof? Fine. I'll get him fucking proof. I stormed through the prison like I owned it, the cold, damp air slapping me in the face with every step. The hallway was lit by dim yellow bulbs that flickered like they were on the verge of giving out—just like everyone who lived in this place. The scent of mildew clung to the walls, and underneath that, the stench of old piss and iron-heavy regret. Of course Rebecca would thrive here. It was rotten. Just like her. The guard at the end barely had time to open his mouth before I shoved past him and slammed open the cell door. There she was. Cross-legged on her flimsy mattress like she was meditating in a temple instead of rotting in a concrete box. Her back was straight, arms behind her in a deliberately posed way—seductive and smug, like this wasn't a cell but her throne. Her eyes snapped to me. That little fake smile twisted into a sneer. "What the hell are you doing here, you damn omega?" she hissed. "I was told Levi