By midday,
the safehouse had settled into a rhythm—
the kind of rhythm a place finds
after everyone inside has survived something terrible
and is clinging to the aftershocks.
The fire crackled softly.
Light from the forest streamed through the dusty windows.
The air held a strange mixture of exhaustion
and something warmer,
something close to hope.
Elliot sat beside me now.
Not in my lap—
but pressed against my side,
his thigh touching mine,
his shoulder resting lightly against my arm.
Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him
every time he exhaled.
He wasn't clinging anymore.
Not blindly.
Not instinctively.
He was choosing it.
Rowan sat on my other side,
hands folded in his lap,
shoulders stiff with nerves.
Every few seconds his fingers brushed my sleeve—
tentative,
hopeful,
as if making sure I hadn't drifted away.
Chandler paced in front of the fireplace,
muttering curses about the dust,
the forest,
the safehouse,
his hair,
"stupid imprinting,"
and once—
very quietly—
"stupid feelings."
Horace sat at the table,
his posture straight,
his gaze steady,
watching all of us with the quiet certainty
of someone who already accepted
he would stand between us and anything that tried to break us.
Lucian scribbled notes on his tablet,
chewing his lip,
glancing at me far too often
with a mixture of scientific fascination
and deep worry.
The children were scattered around my legs in a loose circle—
comfortably asleep or watching with wide, curious eyes.
No one was truly relaxed.
But we were not running anymore.
ELLIOT'S MIND CLEARS
Elliot exhaled slowly,
his fingers brushing the back of my hand.
"…Elle," he said softly.
"Yes?"
His eyes—
clearer, steadier—
lifted to mine.
"I keep thinking…
that if I blink too long,
you'll be gone again."
My chest tightened.
"You won't lose me."
Elliot swallowed.
"You say that like it's simple."
"It is."
He blinked, almost startled.
Then he whispered:
"Not for me."
His hand trembled once before I caught it gently.
Rowan shifted beside me,
eyes sad but warm.
"You don't have to be afraid anymore," he said quietly.
"We're here too."
Elliot glanced at Rowan—
studying him.
Not cold.
Not hostile.
Confused, maybe.
Surprised.
"…you followed her," Elliot said.
Rowan nodded.
"Of course I did."
"…even though you didn't have to."
Rowan's cheeks flushed.
"I didn't have to.
I wanted to."
Elliot didn't answer right away.
His expression changed—
subtle,
quiet,
but there.
Not threatened.
Not territorial.
Just…
Processing.
Slowly.
Deeply.
CHANDLER SNAPS (BUT SOFTLY THIS TIME)
Chandler stopped pacing abruptly.
"You know what pisses me off the most?"
Rowan looked at him with dread.
Elliot narrowed his eyes slightly.
Horace sighed already.
Lucian flinched.
Chandler jabbed a finger at the air.
"She doesn't even realize what she does to all of us."
Everyone froze.
I blinked.
"What I… do?"
Chandler threw up his hands.
"YES! Do you not see it?!
Rowan looks like he's going to pass out every time you breathe.
Elliot's imprinting so hard he might melt into you.
Horace is—"
He pointed at the prince.
"—doing that quiet-dominant-staring thing—"
Horace raised a brow.
"I do not 'stare.'"
"You do stare!" Chandler snapped.
"You're staring right now!"
"…I am looking," Horace corrected calmly.
"THAT'S THE SAME THING."
Lucian buried his face in his sleeves.
Rowan squeaked.
Elliot glared weakly.
I tried not to laugh.
Chandler stabbed a finger upward dramatically.
"And ME?"
His voice cracked.
"I can't even think straight anymore! This safehouse is too small for ALL THESE FEELINGS!"
Rowan groaned.
"Chandler—oh my god—please—"
Chandler's rant deflated abruptly—
and he looked…
embarrassed.
Really embarrassed.
"I'm trying," he muttered.
"To be—
I don't know—
normal about this.
But she's right here,
and she smells—"
He cut himself off violently.
The room stilled.
Horace's voice was low.
"Chandler."
Chandler looked away, ears flaming red.
"…I'm not finishing that sentence."
Elliot made a sound in his throat—half disapproval, half jealousy.
Rowan pressed his hands to his face in secondhand embarrassment.
Lucian whispered into his tablet:
"Her altered scent signature must be amplifying—"
Chandler snapped:
"DON'T YOU DARE SCIENCE MY PROBLEM."
Lucian jumped and hid the tablet behind his head.
HORACE TAKES CONTROL (GENTLY)
Horace stood.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just stood—
and the entire room straightened.
Even Chandler shut up.
"Everyone is overwhelmed," Horace said.
"This situation is not normal.
But fighting won't fix anything."
Chandler huffed.
Rowan nodded earnestly.
Lucian looked grateful.
Elliot leaned closer to me again.
Horace approached us, slow and measured.
"Elleanore," he said softly.
"You're tired."
"I'm fine—"
"You haven't rested since we reached the surface."
"…I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
I looked down.
My hands trembled faintly.
Elliot's grip tightened around my fingers.
Rowan sat up straighter, alarmed.
Chandler's brows furrowed in concern.
Lucian sucked in a breath.
Horace's voice softened.
"You don't have to be strong every second."
My throat tightened.
Elliot pressed his forehead to my shoulder, murmuring:
"…Elle…
rest…"
Rowan gently tugged at my sleeve.
"You can lean on us too," he whispered.
Chandler crossed his arms.
"Don't make me say it twice.
We'll watch you."
Lucian nodded earnestly.
"You need to recover too. You're central to—
uh—
everything."
Horace met my eyes.
"Let us take care of you."
Something inside me cracked very, very quietly.
I exhaled.
"…okay."
Rowan brightened visibly.
Chandler relaxed.
Lucian sighed with relief.
Horace nodded, satisfied.
Elliot leaned even closer, whispering:
"…then come here…"
I let my head rest lightly against his shoulder.
The room warmed instantly.
LUCAN DISCOVERS SOMETHING IMPORTANT
Lucian approached slowly.
"Um… Elle?"
"Yes?"
He looked nervous to the point of shaking.
"I… I think I should tell you this now.
Before anything gets…
more complicated."
Chandler narrowed his eyes.
"What. Complicated?"
Lucian swallowed.
"It's about her scent."
Rowan stiffened.
Elliot lifted his head sharply.
Horace's gaze sharpened.
Lucian continued:
"Elle's scent changed.
Not just in strength.
In type."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
His voice—
usually clinical—
became soft with worry.
"It means…
whatever happened in the Below…
marked you."
Silence.
"Not physically," Lucian rushed.
"Nothing harmful.
But your scent signature shifted into a stabilizing category.
An extremely rare one."
Chandler's brows drew together.
"Define 'rare.'"
Lucian swallowed again.
"It's a scent…
that Alphas respond to strongly during heightened emotion."
His cheeks flushed.
"Including… attraction."
Rowan turned bright red.
Horace went still.
Elliot inhaled near my hair—
slow, deep, aware.
Chandler ran a hand down his face.
"So she's turning ALL of us into idiots."
Lucian flinched.
"Not intentionally!"
Chandler groaned.
Rowan buried his face in my shoulder.
Elliot exhaled a long, warm breath beside my jaw.
Horace rubbed his temple.
And I—
I was suddenly very warm.
THE FIRST REAL HINT OF SENSUALITY
Elliot shifted closer,
his breath brushing my ear
in a way that made my heart stop.
"…Elle."
"Yes?"
His lips were right near my skin—
not touching,
but close enough to feel like lightning.
"…your scent…
it's stronger now."
My breath caught.
Chandler stiffened.
Rowan bit his lip.
Horace's posture sharpened.
Lucian hid behind his tablet.
Elliot's fingers curled around my waist.
"…I can feel it," he whispered.
"Here."
His hand slid—slowly, softly—
to rest against the small of my back.
Warm.
Careful.
Intimate.
A touch that wasn't innocent—
but wasn't inappropriate.
Just…
Close.
So close my pulse stuttered.
His voice brushed my ear again.
"…don't move away."
"I'm not."
"…good."
His forehead touched mine.
Rowan trembled beside me.
Chandler let out a low curse.
Horace looked away—
but only barely.
Lucian whispered:
"This… is escalating."
Yes.
Yes, it was.
Softly.
Slowly.
In the quiet space between breaths.
Proximity
For a long moment,
no one moved.
The fire crackled quietly.
Dust sparkled lazily in the ribbon of sunlight filtering through the window.
Elliot's breath warmed the edge of my jaw—
soft, steady, dangerously close.
He wasn't clinging out of panic anymore.
He was choosing closeness.
Welcoming it.
And the others…
they felt it.
The air thickened—
warm, full,
like something unwinding inside every one of them.
Rowan shifted beside me, cheeks pink, fingers curled nervously into my sleeve.
Chandler paced once,
twice,
then stopped in front of us like he couldn't decide whether to leave or drag me away.
Horace's controlled expression didn't hide the intensity behind his eyes.
Lucian was pretending to read his tablet upside down.
The children slept or watched quietly—
but kept gravitating toward me with instinctive trust.
It felt like the whole room was holding its breath.
Waiting.
ELLIOT'S INSTINCT SHARPENS
Elliot lifted his head,
just enough to meet my eyes fully.
His voice was low.
"Elle…
can I ask you something?"
My pulse jumped.
"Yes."
He stared at me—
really stared—
like he was trying to memorize the colors in my eyes.
"…before the Below…
before everything…
were you ever afraid of me?"
I blinked.
"What? No."
"Not even once?"
"Never."
His shoulders relaxed—
not dramatically,
but enough that something in him eased.
"I thought…
I thought you might stay away from me once you saw what I became."
I reached up, brushing hair from his cheek.
"You never frightened me, Elliot."
His eyes softened.
"…good," he whispered.
"I don't want to be someone you fear.
I want to be someone you trust."
Rowan let out a tiny sound—
half heartbreak, half admiration.
Chandler crossed his arms, mumbling:
"Great, he's poetic now…"
Horace ignored him.
Lucian scribbled something and pretended he didn't.
Elliot moved closer—
slowly—
until his knee pressed gently against mine.
Not pushing,
but asking.
I didn't move away.
Elliot exhaled shakily—
a warm, trembling breath.
"…thank you."
And the way he said it—
soft, breathless—
sent warmth blooming across my chest.
ROWAN CONFESSES WITHOUT MEANING TO
Rowan shifted, face flushed.
"Elle…?"
"Yes?"
"I know Elliot needs you.
And Chandler's… Chandler.
And Horace is… Horace."
Horace raised a brow.
Rowan squeaked and bowed his head apologetically.
"But… I—
I want to stay close too."
Elliot blinked at him, not hostile—
curious.
Chandler scoffed.
"You already ARE close."
Rowan glared.
"I mean emotionally, idiot!"
Chandler froze.
Horace's lip twitched in the smallest smile.
Lucian hid a laugh behind his tablet.
Rowan lowered his voice.
"I'm not trying to compete.
I just…
I care about her too."
He looked up at me—
eyes bright, earnest, vulnerable.
"Is that okay?"
My chest tightened.
"It's okay," I said softly.
Rowan's breath hitched—
a tiny, relieved sound.
He leaned his head against my arm, trembling just a little.
"…thank you…"
Elliot watched him for a moment—
then nodded, as if acknowledging Rowan's feelings instead of rejecting them.
A quiet acceptance.
And Rowan flushed even harder.
CHANDLER LOSES CONTROL OF HIS FEELINGS
Chandler stopped pacing.
Stopped breathing.
Stopped pretending.
"Okay," he snapped.
"That's it. I can't— I can't do this."
Rowan jumped.
Lucian flinched.
Elliot lifted his head, eyes narrowing.
Chandler pointed at me—
not angrily,
but with the raw, unfiltered frustration of someone drowning in feelings he didn't know how to hold.
"You—
you can't keep sitting there and being—being YOU—
and expect me to think straight."
I blinked.
"Chandler—"
"No! No more soft voices!"
He ran a hand through his hair aggressively.
"You smell like comfort and danger and home all at once and it's messing with me!"
Rowan made a desperate noise.
Elliot stared, confused.
Horace pinched the bridge of his nose.
Lucian whispered:
"…oh my god he's confessing…"
Chandler threw his hands up.
"I'm not confessing!
I'm—
I'm stating FACTS!"
Lucian corrected softly:
"That's the definition of confessing—"
"SHUT UP, LUCIAN!"
Horace stepped forward.
"Chandler."
Chandler turned his back, shoulders heaving.
"I'm not asking for anything.
I'm not trying to take anything.
I just—"
His voice broke, barely audible.
"—I want her to look at me too.
Just once.
The way she looks at all of you."
My heart clenched.
"Chandler…"
He stiffened.
Slowly,
I reached out.
His shoulders jerked when my fingers brushed his wrist—
like the contact startled him deep in his bones.
He turned slightly, eyes wide and unguarded.
And I said quietly:
"I see you."
Silence.
Chandler's breath left him in a shaky exhale.
He didn't touch me only to claim anything—
he touched me because he needed to.
Because he was tired of fighting himself.
He whispered, barely audible:
"…thank you…"
And for the first time—
Chandler sat beside me
without scowling
or flinching
or muttering a complaint.
Just…
sat.
Close.
Warm.
Real.
HORACE STEADIES THE ROOM
Horace stepped forward and placed a steadying hand on the back of the couch.
"We cannot let emotions spiral," he said quietly.
"We're all overwhelmed.
We're all reacting to instinct.
But we must remain in control."
Elliot nodded slowly.
Rowan wiped his eyes quickly.
Chandler straightened.
Lucian swallowed nervously.
Horace's hand brushed mine—
purposefully,
gently,
with quiet understanding.
"You're not alone, Elleanore."
I felt the truth of it.
All of them—
their warmth,
their tension,
their need,
their closeness—
pressed into the air around us.
Not explicit.
Not inappropriate.
Just intense.
Alive.
Undeniably intimate.
The room felt like a heartbeat.
One pulse.
One warmth.
One slow, spiraling connection.
And it wasn't just Elliot anymore.
They were all orbiting me.
And something inside me
was beginning to turn toward them, too.
LUCAN DROPS A BOMB
Lucian cleared his throat nervously.
"U-Um… I think I should tell you something I discovered."
All four boys groaned in unison.
Lucian fumbled with his tablet.
"Elle isn't just imprinting one of you."
He swallowed.
"The resonance effect is spreading."
Rowan blinked.
"…spreading?"
Chandler stiffened.
Elliot frowned.
Horace's expression sharpened.
Lucian nodded helplessly.
"Yes.
To all of you."
Silence.
Heavy.
Warm.
Electric.
Then Rowan whispered:
"…all of us…?"
Horace murmured:
"…a multi-anchor response…"
Chandler cursed under his breath.
Elliot looked at me with something intense and unspoken.
Lucian lowered his voice.
"You're all stabilizing each other…
because of her."
I felt the weight of the words sink into the room.
The boys didn't move.
They didn't speak.
They just—
felt it.
This bond.
This warmth.
This pull.
This closeness that wasn't supposed to happen.
But it did.
And it was growing.