Page 119 of Taken Off Camera
A groan escapes me, then a quiet laugh. For so long, I practically lived in the security room atRockford Manor, but now I find myself watching the clock more and more, eager for my shift to end. To escape this tiny box of monitors to be with my Omega.
I let my head fall back on the leather headrest, the seam digging into my scalp. The ceiling tiles are clean, no spiderwebs or dust, and the overhead fluorescents have been dimmed to a gentle twilight. I flex my hand on the console, feeling the indentations left by hours of routine sweeps. All is quiet in the manor, and for the first time, I consider cutting back my hours.
There’s no reason, unless we’re in crisis mode, for me to work. It’s my own micromanaging and internalized fear that if I’m not keeping watch, something will go wrong. My therapist tells me I need to work on letting go and trusting others to man the helm. We have staff for areason, and nowIhave a reason not to lock myself in this box.
The door to the security room hisses open behind me, and I don’t have to turn to know who it is. Only one person in this house wears high heels.
“You’re still here?” Milo’s expression carries a mixture of amusement and exasperation as he steps up beside me, balancing a mug of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other. His fiery hair catches thedim light, the color almost surreal against the sterile glow of the monitors. “It’s after ten, Seb. You planning to fuse yourself to that chair?”
“Just finishing the last sweep,” I say, even though we both know it’s a lie. The feeds have been clear for hours.
Milo hums as he leans in, glancing at the monitor dedicated to mine and Micah’s suite. “Shoot. He’s gone dark again?”
A grin spreads over my lips. “He’s putting together a surprise for me.”
“That’s good progress.” He leans a hip on the desktop. “Saint says he’s doing well in his self-defense classes, too.”
“Yeah, it’s helping.”
Jade had been grumpy that Micah rejected his offer of self-defense lessons. But when he found out it was because Saint had already claimed the right, he’d decided to tag along to learn moves his mentor, my cousin Caleb, hadn’t already taught him. The friendship between the two Omegas shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Jade’s every bit as protective of my mate as Saint and I are. Shared trauma will do that.
Milo sets the tablet down, skimming through reports on the latest intel on the trafficking ring we’d dug up after interrogating Travis. “Saint says Gabrielkeeps coming to the club he works at, trying to impress him.”
Whereas Micah had bonded with Jade, Milo and Saint had built up an easy friendship, both men enjoying tormenting my brother.
“It’s getting pathetic,” Milo continues. “The poor guy offered to buy Saint a new car to replace his sedan.”
That earns a quiet laugh from me. “If he’s smart, he’ll stop trying to court him like an Omega in a rags-to-riches romance novel.”
Milo snorts. “He won’t. And Saint enjoys turning him down too much to tell him to quit.”
I nod in agreement. My little brother never chooses the easy ones. It will be interesting to see how that plays out.
Milo taps my arm. “Clock out. You don’t want to miss the surprise your mate is cooking up for you.”
I exhale and stand, leaving my chair vacant. “You’re right. You have the watch.”
“Gladly.” Milo drops into my chair before it even stops spinning, already pulling up new data feeds with quick, practiced motions. “Go be human for a while, yeah? The rest of us can keep an eye on the world without you for one night.”
The hallway feels longer than usual on my way tothe private wing. I tell myself not to rush, but my pulse gives me away. I’ve faced armed traffickers and organized syndicates without breaking a sweat, but somehow, walking to my own suite leaves my palms damp.
Part of me still worries about pushing too far, too soon. Micah’s healing hasn’t followed any timeline I could predict, and I’ve learned better than to mistake progress for permanence.
He hasn’t cammed since the warehouse, not even privately. Some days, I catch him watching the equipment with a look halfway between nostalgia and dread. I don’t push. He’ll decide if that part of his life still has a place in ours.
When he started taking suppressants after the attack, it gutted me, not because of the missed Heat, but because it erased my Mark. My claiming bite faded, and even his pheromones felt muted. Those months were harder than I’ll admit. The bed felt too big. The suite too quiet. We still touched, still slept side by side, but without the bond humming between us, something vital was missing.
Now, the Mark is back. Faint still, newly healed, and his scent has returned to normal. He says he wasn’t ready before. That he needed to reclaim the choice for himself. And he was right. When I receivedthe Heat alert in the app, and a request that I take the week off to Mark him again, it wasn’t desperation that drove him.
It was trust.
The elevator doors slide open to our floor, and I step into the corridor, the quiet broken only by the soft hum of the manor’s heating system.
At our door, I pause to compose myself. Whatever’s waiting inside, I remind myself, this time he chose it. He’s steering us forward.
With a slow breath out, I push the door open to a wash of light and scent. Rosemary. Garlic. Potatoes crisped in the oven the way he knows I like them. My throat tightens before I even see him.
Candles flicker on the dining table, their glow catching in the dark green bottle of sparkling water standing between two plates. Micah recreated our first in-person date night together.
