Her eyes flutter open. She’s groggy and confused as she blinks up at me, sitting up with sleep-mussed hair and creases on her cheek from the keyboard. She follows my gaze to the laptop in my hands, and everything about her changes in an instant.
“No—Cam, wait—it’s not what it looks like—”
But it is. Itis.
I open my mouth, then close it again.
What the fuck could itpossiblybe if it’s not exactly what it looks like?
“You were writing about us,” I say, quietly. “About how to tear us apart.”
Footsteps creak behind me, and I turn to find Jace stepping toward us, yawning.
“Everything okay?”
“Jace,” I say hoarsely, moving back from the bed. “You need to see this.”
“What?” He steps closer, eyes narrowing at the title. His whole body tenses. “What the hell is that?”
“I told you, it’s not what it looks like!” Aimee says quickly, voice high with panic. “It’s not the real article. I wasn’t going to post it—”
Footsteps move down the hall, and the three of us freeze immediately. A few moments later, Wes appears in the doorway, quiet and still.
He takes in the scene: me frozen, still reeling; Jace standing tense; an Aimee—wide-eyed, breath caught in her throat, flushed with something that might be guilt.
“What’s going on here?” he asks. His voice is low, but there’s an edge to it.
I swallow hard. “You need to read this.”
Aimee lets out a small, strangled sound as Wes moves beside me and leans down, his eyes scanning over the open document.
His voice is quiet when he starts to read.
“Ten steps to dismantling a scent-matched pack before they even know they’re being tested…” A pause. “Evidence gathered over six weeks suggests that scent matches are emotionally manipulable, and not biologically absolute. Alpha behavior follows patterns under stress, even when bonds are forming. Omegas have more power than they realize.”
He stops reading, and the silence thickens.
Then—his voice, dark and final: “I fucking knew it.”
Aimee flinches like he struck her.
“I knew you were playing us. Iknewthis whole thing was bullshit.” He turns to Jace and me, voice rising. “Itoldyou, didn’t I? I told you something was off, but you—” he jabs a finger toward Jace, “youdefendedher.”
“Wes,” Aimee starts, stepping forward. “It’s not what you think. There’s—there’s another version of the article. One I actually meant. One that’s real.”
He laughs, loud and humorless.
“Real?Real?” he practically snarls. “Real? You mean the part where you detail how to emotionally detonate each of us like we’re fucking landmines?”
“Youwrote steps,” Jace adds. “You don’t accidentally write that, Aimee.”
“It was a joke,” she snaps, but there’s panic curling under the words. “It started as a joke! I didn’t think any of this would happen. I didn’t think I’d fall for—”
“Oh, don’t youdare,” Wes cuts in. “Don’t stand there and say youfell for uswhile keeping a goddamn playbook on how to screw us over open on your laptop.”
“I was writing the real one!” she yells, fists clenching. “The one thatmatters! The other draft—I kept it because I was scared and confused and spiraling, and I didn’t know what else to do—”
“That’s your excuse?” I frown, stepping in, heart hammering. “You were confused? You were scared? So you just… kept playing us?”