The safehouse was warm.
Not the artificial, recycled warmth of Academy heaters—
but the gentle, living heat of a real fire.
It soothed the edges of my nerves,
softened the cold fear coiled in my stomach,
and made everything inside me ache
with a strange kind of relief.
Elliot slept with his head in my lap.
Sev and Len curled on either side of me.
Elo and the other children sprawled in a nest of blankets near the hearth.
Rowan sat beside me, close enough that his knee brushed mine.
Chandler lounged on the rug at my feet, back against the couch.
Horace rested with his back against the far wall—
but always within arm's reach of us.
Lucian sat at the kitchen table, sleeves rolled up, quietly organizing supplies.
It was peaceful.
But not calm.
Not really.
The kind of peace you get in the middle of an inhale—
before everything you've been holding back
finally spills out.
ELLIOT WAKES
Elliot shifted on my lap, his breathing roughening.
Rowan straightened immediately.
"Is he—is he okay?"
Chandler rolled his eyes.
"He's waking up, genius. Calm down."
But Chandler leaned forward too, eyes sharp with worry he'd never admit.
Elliot's lashes fluttered.
Then—
"…Elle…?"
His voice was hoarse, tender, almost shy.
I cupped his cheek gently.
"I'm here."
His hand rose clumsily and found mine.
"…your hand…"
"Yes?"
"…warm…"
Rowan melted a little—
visibly.
Chandler looked away, jaw tense.
Horace pushed off the wall and approached, kneeling beside us.
"Elliot.
Can you sit up?"
Elliot blinked slowly, then nodded.
Barely.
Horace helped guide him upright, but Elliot's fingers didn't let go of mine for a second—
as if I were the single thread tying him to the world.
When he finally sat up, his head dropped onto my shoulder immediately.
"…Elle…"
Rowan whispered:
"God, he's… he's really clinging to you…"
Chandler muttered:
"Tch. Not surprising."
But the way he said it was tight.
Jealous, even.
Elliot nuzzled into my hair, breathing shallow but steady.
"You're…
close…"
"Yes."
"…don't…
don't go far…"
"I won't."
Lucian approached cautiously.
"Elliot," he said gently. "How do you feel?"
Elliot blinked at him.
Confusion flickered across his face.
"Sore," he whispered.
"My… head hurts."
Then softer:
"My chest too."
Horace nodded.
"That's normal."
Rowan leaned closer.
"You scared the hell out of us."
Elliot's eyes softened.
"…sorry."
Rowan immediately shook his head.
"No—no, don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong—"
Chandler cleared his throat loudly.
"You better not apologize. We nearly died dragging you out of there."
"Chandler," Horace warned.
"What? I'm telling the truth—"
Rowan glared.
"You're being rude."
Chandler glared back.
"You want to fight about it—?"
Lucian quickly intervened.
"Everyone, please—
Elliot needs calm, not noise."
Elliot leaned more heavily into me.
"…Elle…"
"Yes?"
"…your smell…
calms me…"
The room went still.
Rowan blushed so hard he dropped his face into his hands.
Chandler sat up straighter, eyes flashing.
Horace's breath caught for just a second.
Lucian looked mortified.
I blinked.
"Elliot—
maybe you should rest—"
He shook his head faintly.
"…don't want to stop smelling you…"
Rowan choked.
Chandler pinched the bridge of his nose.
Horace cleared his throat and stood, smoothing the front of his shirt as if trying to regain composure.
Lucian whispered:
"That's…
normal."
Chandler snapped.
"For HIM."
Lucian nodded nervously.
"Well—
yes. He's scent-imprinting on Elleanore. That's—
that's very normal given the trauma bonding—"
Rowan muttered:
"That sounded way too close to 'mate bonding.'"
Lucian flinched.
Chandler glared at him.
Horace stared silently.
And Elliot—
without warning—
wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned into my chest.
"…Elle…
don't move…"
A shiver rolled through my spine—
not fear.
Not discomfort.
Something warm.
Soft.
Too intimate.
Rowan flushed red.
Chandler went rigid.
Horace's expression tightened.
Lucian stared at the floor.
And I—
I breathed in, steadying myself.
"It's okay," I whispered, brushing his hair.
"You're safe."
Elliot exhaled a long, shaky breath—
the kind that breaks open the places you tried to hide.
"…Elle…"
"Yes?"
"…I thought…
I'd lost you."
My heart cracked.
"Never."
His arms tightened imperceptibly around me.
"…don't let anyone…
take you…"
My breath caught.
"I won't."
He relaxed—
only to shift slightly, pulling me closer.
And Rowan whispered, voice faint and aching:
"…Elle…
you're going to kill me…"
Chandler groaned.
"You're telling me."
Horace exhaled quietly.
"We should give them space."
But none of them moved.
Not an inch.
Lucian nodded slowly.
"Being close also stabilizes Elliot.
We should… remain nearby."
Rowan nodded too.
"I'm staying."
Chandler crossed his arms.
"Same."
Horace didn't speak—
but he sat back down where he was before, the quiet acceptance of someone who had made up his mind a long time ago.
Elliot didn't seem aware of their reactions.
He just pressed closer, breathing me in softly.
"…you smell…
safe…"
"It's just me," I murmured.
"…I know…"
His voice lowered.
"…I always knew…"
And slowly—
his fingers curled into the fabric at my hip.
A quiet claim.
Unintentional.
But undeniably intimate.
Chandler shifted uncomfortably but didn't look away.
Rowan held his breath, cheeks flushed.
Horace's eyes softened with something he didn't voice.
Lucian pretended to look at his tablet, ears bright red.
The children, exhausted from the day, fell asleep in a warm circle around us.
And the safehouse grew warmer—
with heat that wasn't fire,
and closeness that wasn't accidental,
and the beginnings of something
none of us had the courage to name yet.
Instinct Finds Warmth
By nightfall,
the safehouse felt like a different world.
The fire glowed low and soft,
painting the walls with amber light.
Dust floated quietly in the air.
Breathing slowed around the room
as exhaustion finally seeped through the cracks of adrenaline.
Elliot lay across my thighs, warm and heavy.
Sev curled at my hip.
Len rested against my ribs.
Elo wrapped an arm around my calf like a sentry.
The younger Phase Zero children were piled at the foot of the couch,
tangled in blankets and each other.
Rowan sat on my right.
Chandler sat on my left.
Horace leaned against the wall nearest to me.
Lucian hovered by the fire,
pretending to read his tablet
but not turning a single page.
Everyone gravitated toward the center—
toward Elliot,
toward me.
And the air felt…
warm enough to be dangerous.
ELLIOT DOESN'T WANT TO SLEEP
Elliot blinked awake, lifting his head just enough to meet my eyes.
"…Elle…?"
"I'm here."
"…too bright…"
He muttered, burying his face in my stomach.
Rowan flushed scarlet.
Chandler snapped his head away.
Horace exhaled slowly, looking at the ceiling.
Lucian whispered:
"That's normal."
Chandler glared at him.
"What, EXACTLY, is 'normal' about this?"
Lucian tapped nervously at his screen.
"After severe trauma, subjects imprint on their stabilizing anchor.
Elliot's body is reacting to Elleanore's presence, scent, and warmth."
Rowan buried his face in his hands.
"Oh god… oh god…"
Chandler growled.
"He's basically glued to her."
Lucian coughed, flustered.
"A-Ah… yes.
Temporarily."
Horace's gaze drifted to me.
"Can he sleep without her?"
Lucian hesitated.
"Probably…
but—
he'll wake disoriented and panicked.
And that could destabilize everything again."
Elliot tightened his arms around my waist.
"…don't… leave…"
His breath warmed the fabric of my shirt.
Heat bloomed across my skin.
Rowan turned pink.
Chandler's jaw flexed like it hurt.
Horace's fingers twitched at his side.
Lucian studied the floor.
I swallowed.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Elliot sighed, content.
"Good…"
His voice softened even more.
"…smell good…"
Chandler made a strangled noise.
Rowan choked.
Horace wiped a hand down his face.
Lucian whispered to himself:
"That's…
that's definitely imprinting…"
THE CHILDREN FOLLOW INSTINCT
Len crawled over and draped himself across my lap, half over Elliot.
Elo followed, placing his head on my knee.
Sev pressed into my shoulder, thumb in his mouth.
One by one—
the children edged closer until they formed a crescent around me and Elliot,
as if I were the center of gravity.
Rowan blinked.
"They…
they won't sleep unless she's touching them…"
Lucian nodded.
"They imprinted on her too.
Less intensely—
but it's instinctual protection.
A first anchor."
Chandler leaned closer, voice low.
"So they need her?"
Lucian swallowed.
"Yes."
Horace nodded once.
"Then she sleeps here."
I hesitated.
"I don't mind, but—"
Rowan scooted closer instantly.
"I'll stay awake.
Just in case he… needs something."
Chandler cut him a sharp look.
"YOU? Stay awake? You almost tripped five times on the way here."
Rowan bristled.
"I was carrying two children!"
Chandler scoffed.
"You were holding their hands, not carrying—"
"Boys," I said quietly.
They froze.
Rowan went pink.
Chandler grumbled and looked away.
Horace smirked—just slightly.
Lucian adjusted his glasses, whispering to the fire:
"…this is going to be a long night…"
SOFT CONTACT
Elliot shifted again,
one hand sliding unconsciously along my waist
until his palm rested just under the fabric of my shirt.
Not inappropriate—
but intimate.
Skin to skin.
Warm.
Rowan inhaled sharply.
Chandler straightened, shoulders tense, eyes dark.
Horace's gaze flicked toward the contact,
then away—
like he'd seen something he respected
but was trying not to react to.
Lucian nearly dropped his tablet.
Elliot murmured:
"…warm…"
His breath brushed my collarbone.
I swallowed hard.
"Try to rest."
"Only if…
Elle… stays…"
"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered.
His fingers tightened,
not demanding—
but needing.
His forehead pressed to my ribs.
His breath warmed my skin.
His entire body softened in my arms.
Something in the room changed—
slowly.
Quietly.
A melting.
A pulling.
An intimacy deeper than touch
but built through touch.
Rowan shifted closer, voice small and aching.
"Elle… can I…?"
I turned.
Rowan's hand lifted—
hesitantly—
toward my shoulder.
"Just…
just to help keep Elliot steady," he murmured.
He wasn't lying.
But he also wasn't unaffected.
I nodded, placing my hand over his.
Rowan turned red all the way to his ears.
Chandler muttered:
"Pathetic…"
But the jealousy in his tone wasn't subtle.
Horace approached next, kneeling beside the couch.
"I'll stay here," he said.
"In case anything happens."
His hand rested on the back of the couch—
close enough to brush against my shoulder
if I leaned even slightly.
Lucian sat against the armchair, quietly observing.
The room warmed more.
Not from the fire—
but from bodies gathered close,
breathing the same air,
resting in the same heat.
A MOMENT THAT LINGERS TOO LONG
Elliot lifted his head again.
Just a little.
His breath brushed my collarbone as he whispered:
"…Elle…"
"Yes?"
"Come… closer…"
My heart thudded.
I leaned down slowly,
pressing my forehead to his.
His lips parted slightly—
not for a kiss—
but for breath.
Warm.
Close.
Too close.
Rowan pressed a fist to his mouth.
Chandler's eyes darkened.
Horace exhaled slowly, quietly.
Lucian looked away entirely.
Elliot closed his eyes.
"…yeah…
that's right…"
He scooted closer until his body was flush against mine.
"…don't leave…"
"I won't."
His fingers curled under the hem of my shirt again,
resting warm against my lower ribs.
"…Elle…
you feel…
nice…"
The room froze.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
Not inappropriate.
Not explicit.
But warm.
Too warm.
Sensual in the way shared breath can be.
In the way bodies fit by instinct.
In the way touch lingers because it needs to.
Rowan whispered:
"Elle…"
Chandler muttered:
"Oh hell no—"
Horace's eyes softened—
but darkened with something else.
Lucian murmured:
"This is…
deeper than trauma."
Elliot pressed his face to my stomach again.
"…Elle…
mine…"
My breath hitched.
Rowan flushed violently.
Chandler's fists clenched.
Horace closed his eyes briefly.
Lucian nearly choked on air.
Elliot continued softly, dreamily:
"…you smell like…
a promise…"
My throat tightened.
"What kind of promise?"
He breathed against my skin.
"…one I don't want…
anyone else to steal…"
Silence.
Heavy.
Warm.
Electric.
Rowan whispered:
"Oh god…"
Chandler muttered:
"…this is going to be a problem…"
Horace murmured:
"…we'll handle it."
Lucian nodded faintly.
"…together."
And I realized the truth—
that this wasn't just Elliot imprinting.
They were all circling me.
Instinctively.
Emotionally.
Something forming that none of us could name.
But we felt it.
Warm.
Lingering.
Dangerously intimate.
A slow-burn made of shared breath
and quiet touches
and the need to be close.
The kind of tension
that doesn't explode—
It sinks in.