Page 34 of Heat Clickbait
"Eli Wolfgang Reyes and that's just confusing," Blitz added with a self-deprecating grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"Wolfgang?" Callie blinked, momentarily derailed. "Your parents named you Wolfgang?"
"Middle name, but yeah. My dad's German. My mom lost a bet."
The absurdity of it made her laugh, for real this time, not that fractured sound from before.
"See?" I couldn't stay still any longer, bouncing on my toes as energy crackled through me. "We're learning. Middle names, family drama, favorite breakfast foods?—"
"Dinosaur nuggets," Milo said quietly, and Callie flushed pink.
"That's different from—" She gestured vaguely at the window, the shadows of vultures circling. "They want to dissect us. Study us. Turn us into content or cautionary tales or academic papers on modern pack dynamics."
Nova's phone rang again. He looked at it, then at Callie. "It's Michelle."
Callie grabbed the phone before he could answer, putting it on speaker. "Michelle, I swear to god, if you've scheduled some kind of press conference without?—"
"Shut up and listen." Michelle's voice crackled through, sharp and efficient as always. "Your mother's interview is trending, but not the way you think. The younger generation is dragging her for abandoning you, for judging your choices, for making your moment about her trauma."
I pulled up one of my social media apps on my phone, scrolling through the reactions.
"Holy shit, she's right. Look—'Imagine being so committed to your trauma that you abandon your daughter then judge her for finding love.' That's got fifty thousand retweets."
"There's more," Michelle continued. "Dr. Yates wants to offer a statement about the medical legitimacy of your bond if you're willing. Several prominent Omega activists are ready to speak up about choice and agency. And Kara from Pack Wrecked just posted a beautiful thread about finding your pack being brave, not weakness."
Callie sank into a chair, looking smaller than I'd ever seen her. "It's too much. All of it. I just—I need?—"
"Time," Nova finished. "You need time. And we're going to give it to you."
He moved into full business mode, that thing where his spine went straight and his accent got crisp enough to cut diamond. "Michelle, we're going dark for forty-eight hours. No statements, no posts, no content. Radio silence."
"Nova, that's career suicide?—"
"That's non-negotiable." His voice brooked no argument. "Handle the logistics however you see fit, but we're unavailable. All of us."
"The documentary crews have offers?—"
"No."
"The morning shows want?—"
"No."
"Your mother," Michelle said to Callie, and that made everyone freeze. "She's requested contact. Through her lawyer."
Callie's laugh was hollow. "Of course through her lawyer. Can't risk actual human connection."
"You don't have to respond," I said, moving closer without thinking about it. "You don't owe her anything."
"Don't I?" She looked up at me with those brown eyes that had undone us all. "She's trying to protect me the only way she knows how. By staying away. By warning others. By?—"
Her phone rang, cutting her off. Unknown number, but something made her answer.
"Callie?" The voice on speaker was older, feminine, carefully controlled. "It's your mother."
The kitchen became a tableau of frozen Alphas, none of us even breathing.
"Mom." Callie's voice came out strangled.
