Page 222 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

Stone nods, rising from the stool to flip the last of the bacon. “Figured everyone could use some food.”

“You didn’t have to. I could have.”

Stone shrugs. Winces. “Thought you needed the rest.”

Finn hesitates in the doorway for a moment before entering the kitchen. He moves with the smooth grace he always has, but I see the caution. The carefulness that’s become characteristic in his gait since the accident, as if he’s constantly having to think about his balance. The scars hidden beneath his clothing are a map of that night—the night that changed everything. The night our bond changed forever, though he doesn’t know it.

He slides onto a chair at the table, accepting the mug of tea I push toward him. His fingers curl around the warmth, and for a moment, he just breathes in the steam, eyes closed. The familiar ritual seems to center him.

“Hailey’s still asleep,” he says after a moment. “She…it took her a while to settle.”

I nod, understanding what he’s not saying. Nightmares. Panic. The aftermath of violence is never easy, especially for an omega.

“Let her rest,” Stone says, sliding a plate in front of Finn. “There’s plenty of food when she wakes up.”

Finn stares at the plate for a long moment, as if surprised by the normality of eggs and bacon in the midst of everything that’s happened. Then, with a small nod, he picks up a fork and begins to eat. His movements are measured, controlled, but he’s eating, and that’s a good sign.

We settle into an uneasy silence, the only sounds the scrape of forks against plates and the occasional creak of the cabin settling around us. Through the window, sunlight peeks through the leaves and a bird sings on a branch near the window.

“This place,” Finn says eventually, breaking the silence. “How long has Ren had it?”

It’s a good question—one we’ve been wondering ourselves. “We don’t know,” I admit. “He never mentioned it before.”

“It doesn’t seem like him,” Finn observes, echoing our earlier thoughts. He gestures around the rustic kitchen with his fork. “All this…wood. Nature. He usually prefers steel and glass and city lights.”

Stone makes a noncommittal sound. “Ren’s always been full of surprises.”

“And absences,” Finn adds, a hint of bitterness coloring his tone.

The tension in the room thickens. He’d left again just shortly after the attack. Had he gone to ward off another threat? Or was it simply because of what he’d done to Hailey?

“He’ll be in touch,” I say, though I’m not entirely sure I believe it. “He always is, eventually.”

Finn just hums in response, returning his attention to his food. There’s a new guardedness to him since last night, a wariness that makes my chest ache. For years, he’s been the heart of our pack, the one who softens Stone’s edges and calms Ren’s restlessness. Seeing him shut down, even slightly, feels like losing something precious.

“I need to check the perimeter,” Stone announces, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He rises, depositing his empty plate in the sink. “Make sure everything’s secure.”

“I’ll come with you,” I say immediately. I can’t continue to let him patrol alone in his injured state.

Stone starts to argue, then catches the look in my eye and relents. “Fine. But Finn stays inside. Doors locked.” His tone leaves no room for discussion.

To my surprise, Finn doesn’t protest. He just nods, looking tired. “I should be here when Hailey wakes up, anyway. She might…” He trails off, but we all understand. She might panic in a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar scents.

I hesitate, not wanting to leave Finn alone either, but knowing Stone shouldn’t be out there by himself. “We won’t be long,” I promise. “Just a quick sweep of the immediate area.”

Finn waves us off, already gathering the dishes. “Go. I’ll clean up.”

The domesticity of the gesture, so normal in the midst of our upended lives, makes something twist in my chest. I want to pull him close, to bury my face in his neck and breathe in the comforting scent of sage and rain. To remind myself that despite everything, he’s here, he’s safe, he’s still part of us.

But Stone is already heading for the door, and the moment passes.

Outside, the air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow. The elevation here is higher than we’re used to, the oxygen thinner, making each breath feel slightly inadequate. Stone leads the way down a well-worn path that circles the property, his stride purposeful despite his injury.

For several minutes, we walk in silence, each of us scanning the forest for any sign of intrusion, any hint that we’ve been followed. But there’s nothing—just the rustling of leaves, the occasional call of a bird, the soft crunch of pine needles beneath our boots.

“He’s different,” Stone says finally, his voice low. “Since last night.”

I don’t pretend to misunderstand. “Wouldn’t you be? Our home was invaded. He was threatened. He had to watch you get shot.”

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