I make quick work of smashing the pills for Ana, like I used to for Serena before she learned how to gulp them down—an embarrassingly recent development.

“Why so many?” Ana whines.

“Because we don’t know exactly what you have,” I explain. “These will help whether it’s a virus or bacteria, and this other one will lower your fever. Now quit bitching.”

She says the pills taste like poison, which earns me several nasty looks from the peanut gallery. I decide to make myself scarce and go look for Alex, hoping he’s still awake. I’m in luck, because I find him in Lowe’s office. I walk up behind him, curious about what has him so engrossed that he didn’t hear me coming.

“Playing smuggled Human games, and GTA no less, at your boss’s desk. The sheer gall of today’s workforce.”

“Shit a brick!” He almost falls off his chair. “Where are you—You’re so close all of a sudden. I had garlic for lunch and my blood is probably poisonous to you!”

I give him my best disappointed pout. “I missed you, too. We’re intercepting, right?”

He nods, still clutching his chest. “Yes. I’m getting great signal. Emery can’t book a chiropractor appointment without us knowing.”

“Lovely. Anything yet?”

He shakes his head. His nostrils twitch. “You smell different. That’s why I didn’t notice you coming in.”

Uh-oh. “Maybe my vampyric stench is growing on you?”

“No. No, you smell like—”

“By the way, Lowe asked us to work on a project,” I interrupt. It’s a lie. But I don’t think Lowe will mind.

“What?”

It’s something that just occurred to me because of what Ana said. Misha gets to have two parents and I get none. When trying to figure out who told Serena about Ana, we assumed that it couldn’t be her father, because he never believed Maria when she said she was pregnant. But what if that’s not the whole story? “He wants us to get a list of Humans who were part of the Human-Were Bureau, say, ten to five years ago?” It is safer than saying eight. Alex is not stupid. “Lowe is looking for people who would have interacted with Weres in our”—Our?—“in his pack.”

He blinks curiously. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Something came up when we were at Emery’s and he said he’d need to know.” Maybe I’m a better actor than I gave myself credit for.

“Any person who worked for the Bureau? No other criteria?”

I run a hand through my hair, thinking. “Men. Just men.”

“Okay. Yeah, sure.”

“Do you have time to start now?” I smile as fanglessly as I can. “Or are you too busy playing pretend street gangster?”

He flushes a cute shade of green, clears his throat, and we spend the next hour finding very little because of the disorganized mess of the Human archives. We give up when Alex starts yawning.

“Oh my God,” he says after I stand to leave.

“What?”

His eyes are moon-wide. “I got it.”

“Got what?”

“What you smell like.”

Fuck. “Good night, Alex.”

“Why do you smell like my Alpha marked you?” is the last thing I hear as I head back to Ana’s room.

Mick and Cal have left, but Lowe and Juno are standing outside of his room, talking in hushed tones. They fall silent when I arrive, and turn to me with heavy eyes.

I freeze. “Shit. Is she okay?”

Juno’s response only lags about a second, but my stomach’s weight doubles. “Her fever broke, and she’s been able to keep liquids down. She said your ‘gross stuff,’ direct quote, made her feel much better.”

I smile. “Really?”

“Yup.” She gives her Alpha an appraising look. Her eyes bounce between the two of us, and then she adds, “You guys make a surprisingly good team.”

“It was mostly me.” I dust off the dress I put on for dinner and am somehow still wearing.

Juno’s mouth twitches. “Just take the compliment.”

“Fine,” I concede, watching her wave at Lowe and leave. This friendship, or lack of enmity, appears to be highly rewarding to my dopaminergic system.

I expect to find Lowe smiling. Instead he’s staring at me with a grave, almost haunted expression.

“Is Ana asleep?”

He nods.

“Do you want to sleep in my bed?” His throat bobs before it occurs to me to clarify. “I sleep in the closet, anyway. And you could keep the door open, in case Ana wakes up, and . . . I’m not coming on to you while your sister is still sick because of what happened between us earlier,” I finish, considerably less strongly than I began.

But I don’t think he cares. Honestly, I doubt he’s listening. He nods robotically, and once he follows me inside my room, his gaze fixes on the night outside the window. On something that might not even be there.

There is an unpleasant twist in my throat. I sit on the bare mattress and softly call, “Lowe?”

He doesn’t respond. His eyes, pale and otherworldly, stick to the darkness.

“Is there . . . Are you okay?”

I’m afraid he’ll ignore this question, too. But a few minutes later, he shakes his head. Slowly, he turns and comes to stand in front of me. “What if you hadn’t been here?” he murmurs.

“I . . . What?”

“If you hadn’t been here, with your knowledge of Human anatomy.” His jaw works. “I’d have had to choose between her health and her safety.”

“Ah.” I see now where all of this is coming from. I see it, and I feel it, deep in the pit of my stomach, a stone sinking heavily. “It’ll be okay. She’ll be okay. It’s probably just the flu.”

“What if next time it’s something more serious? Something she needs extensive Human medical care for?”

“It won’t. Like I said, she’ll be okay—”

“Will she?” he asks, in a tone that makes it impossible for me to lie.

The truth is, I don’t know. I have no idea whether Ana will be okay. I have no idea whether Lowe and I will be okay. I have no idea whether Serena is alive. I have no fucking idea whether a war is inevitable, whether my people care enough about me not to leave me here as its first casualty, whether every single choice I’ve made since the day I turned eighteen was a mistake.

I have no idea what will happen, I have no idea what has happened, and it’s terrifying. I respect Lowe, this man who feels so similar to me, this man I’ve known less than a handful of weeks and yet cannot quite make myself not trust. I respect him too much to lie to him, or to lie to myself in his presence.

So I say, “I’m not sure,” and it’s barely a whisper, but he hears me. He nods, and I nod, and when he sinks to his knees, when he buries his face in my lap, I welcome him. Let my hands run over his soft hair. Feel his deep inhale. His shoulders, so broad and strong, rise and fall. I slide my hand down the back of his neck, inside his shirt, hoping my cool skin will be as soothing as his heat is to me.

“Misery,” he sighs, and his breath warms the skin of my belly through the fabric of the dress, and I’m still alone, still different, still mostly on my own, but maybe a little less than usual. His fingers close softly around my ankle, the metal of his wedding band hot against skin and bones, and for the first time in more than I can remember, I feel held.

I’m here, I say, only in my head. With you.

We stay like that for longer than I can keep track of.

CHAPTER 19

She is fearless, and the thought terrifies him.