The patient—a young omega with a badly sprained ankle—is finally asleep, her breathing evening out into something resembling peace. I finish wrapping the compression bandage with the kind of precision Maven drilled into me over the past week, tucking the end under itself with a soft click of satisfaction.

One thing I'll give the pack healer: she knows how to teach without making you feel like a complete idiot.

I'm disposing of the soiled gauze when Kael appears in the doorway like some kind of amber-eyed specter, and my entire nervous system decides this is the perfect moment to stage a mutiny.

"She's stable," I say before he can ask, keeping my eyes firmly on the medical waste bin. "Sprain's moderate, not severe. She'll be mobile in a few days if she doesn't do anything stupid."

He doesn't leave.

I can feel him there, taking up space and oxygen like some kind of predatory heat lamp, and I'm suddenly very aware that Maven stepped out twenty minutes ago to gather more supplies from the storage shed. Very aware that it's just us. Very aware of the way my pulse is doing something embarrassing at the base of my throat.

"Iris."

His voice is different today. Rougher. Like something in him has finally frayed past the point of repair.

I turn to face him, keeping my expression carefully blank—the same mask I've perfected over years of survival. "What?"

Kael steps inside and closes the door behind him.

The click of the latch sounds like a trap snapping shut.

"You've been avoiding me," he says. Not a question. Not an accusation, exactly, but close enough that my defensive instincts start flaring like warning fires.

"I've been working," I counter, moving to the supply shelf to reorganize things that don't need reorganizing. "Maven keeps me busy. Not everyone has the luxury of standing around looking brooding and important."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" I'm pulling bandages from a box with more aggression than necessary, creating a small avalanche of gauze.

"The deflection. The sarcasm." He moves closer, and I can smell him now—that cedarwood and smoke and wild thing that makes my brain fuzzy. "Talk to me. Actually talk to me."

I laugh, but it comes out wrong. Sharp. Brittle. Like glass breaking in slow motion.

"What do you want me to say, Kael? That I enjoy your company? That I'm thrilled to be here playing nurse in a pack that would rather see me dead?" I spin to face him, and the movement brings us closer than I intended. The medical quarters suddenly feels very small. "I'm doing my job. I'm staying out of trouble. I'm not causing problems. That should be enough."

"It's not enough." His amber eyes are doing that glowing thing, the one that makes my skin feel too tight. "It hasn't been enough for three years."

The number hits me like a physical blow.

Three years.

I've been running for three years, and apparently Kael has been... what? Counting? Waiting? The thought terrifies me in a way that has nothing to do with physical danger.

"I don't know what you want from me," I say, and my voice is quieter now. More honest. Which is a mistake. Honesty is a liability.

"I want you to stop pretending that night didn't happen."

The medical quarters seem to tilt slightly.

I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles going white. "That night happened a long time ago."

"It happened three years ago." He's closer now, and I didn't see him move. "It happened the night you were cast out. The night your pack decided you weren't worth keeping."

My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood.

"Don't," I say, the word barely a whisper. "Don't talk about that."

"Why not?" There's something raw in his voice now, something that sounds like he's been holding this in for so long it's rotting him from the inside. "You think I don't know what it costs you to be here? You think I don't see you, Iris? Every morning, the way you check the exits. Every night, the way you don't sleep. The scars on your wrists from the binding chains."

My hands move to my wrists instinctively, pulling my sleeves down even though the marks have long since faded into pale lines that only show in certain light.

"Stop," I say again, but there's no power in it. Just desperation.

Kael reaches out, and I should move. I should step back. I should do any of the hundred tactical things I've trained myself to do when someone invades my space. Instead, I stand frozen like a prey animal caught in headlights as he gently—so impossibly gently—takes my wrist and pushes my sleeve up.

His fingers trace the faded marks with a tenderness that makes something inside me crack.

"I broke pack law for you," he says quietly. "That night, when they were deciding your fate, when they were going to make sure you didn't survive the wilderness alone, I made a choice."

My heart stops.

Actually stops, like someone reached into my chest and shut it off.

"What are you talking about?" My voice sounds like it's coming from very far away.

"I helped you escape." He looks up at me, and his amber eyes are full of something that looks like pain. "I was supposed to hunt you down. Orders from the Alpha himself. Instead, I gave you supplies, a map, and a three-hour head start before I told anyone you were gone."

The room spins.

"No," I say. "You didn't. You couldn't have—"

"I did." His thumb traces the inside of my wrist, over the pulse point that's probably giving away the fact that I'm having some kind of cardiac event. "And they knew. Not immediately, but they figured it out. No other wolf could have gotten you out of the territory without being caught. No other wolf would have tried."

"Why?" The word comes out broken. "Why would you do that?"

"Because it was wrong." His voice is steady, but his hand is trembling against my skin. "Everything about that rejection was wrong. You didn't deserve it. You were just a kid, and they treated you like you were something to be disposed of."

I pull my hand away from him, and it feels like tearing myself in half.

"You shouldn't have done that," I say, backing away until my hips hit the counter. "You shouldn't have risked your position. Your family—"

"I know." He runs a hand through his auburn hair, and I see the exhaustion in the gesture, the weight he's been carrying. "I've known every single day for three years that I made the wrong choice for all the right reasons."

"What do you mean?"

"It cost me." He meets my eyes, and there's something desperate in his expression. "Not my life, but nearly everything else. My pack's trust. My standing. There are still wolves who think I betrayed them. And I'd do it again, Iris. A thousand times over, I'd do it again."

Something inside me is breaking apart, piece by piece, and I can't seem to stop it.

"You shouldn't," I whisper. "You shouldn't care that much. It's not—it's not safe."

"Why?" He steps closer, and this time I don't back away. "Why isn't it safe?"

"Because I'm not worth it." The words spill out before I can stop them, and they taste like poison. Like truth. "Because I'm damaged and broken and I don't know how to let people in. Because the last time someone cared about me, I got cast out of my entire world. Because you're going to realize you made a mistake, and I'm not strong enough to survive that again."

His hand comes up to my face, and I flinch before I can stop myself, but he's gentle. So gentle it hurts.

"You survived being cast out," he says softly. "You survived three years alone in the wilderness. You survived a rejection that should have broken you. You're the strongest person I know."

"I'm not strong," I say, and I'm shaking now, actually shaking. "I'm just good at running."

"Maybe." He steps closer, and now we're separated by nothing but the space of a breath. "But you're not running now."

I should move. I should put distance between us. I should remember every reason why this is a terrible idea—why Kael is a terrible idea, why trusting anyone is a terrible idea, why letting him see me like this is the worst decision I could possibly make.

Instead, I stand there like an idiot while he looks at me like I'm something precious instead of something broken.

"This is a mistake," I say, but my voice wavers.

"Yeah," he agrees, and his hand slides to the back of my neck. "Probably."

His other hand finds my waist, and the feeling of being held—actually held—is so foreign that I almost don't know what to do with it. My body goes rigid, every muscle tensed for flight or fight.

"Breathe," he murmurs. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know." And I do know, which is somehow worse. It's easier when people hurt you. Easier when you can justify your walls, your distance, your absolute refusal to let anyone close. But Kael isn't hurting me. He's just standing here, his cedarwood and smoke scent wrapping around me like something warm and safe, and it's terrifying.

"I've been waiting three years for you to see me," he says quietly. "To see that I'm not the pack. I'm not your family. I'm not going to abandon you."

"You don't know that," I whisper. "You can't know that."

"I know." He leans closer, and his forehead touches mine. "I know because I've already made my choice, Iris. I made it the night I helped you escape. I made it every single day I didn't hunt you down. I'm making it right now, standing here, telling you the truth about what you cost me."

My hands are fisted at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood.

"What if I hurt you?" The question comes out raw. "What if I'm not capable of—of whatever this is?"

"Then I'll deal with it." His thumb traces my jawline, and my breath catches. "But I'm not going to stand by and pretend I don't feel this. I'm not going to let you hide anymore."

"Kael—"

He kisses me.

It's not gentle or tentative or any of the things I might have expected. It's consuming, like he's been holding this in for three years and it's finally breaking free. His hand tightens at the back of my neck, and his other hand pulls me closer, and I'm drowning in the smell of him, the heat of him, the overwhelming reality of him.

My body betrays my mind completely. My hands unclench and grip his shirt, and I'm kissing him back like I'm starving and he's the only thing that will keep me alive. His mouth is warm and demanding, and it tastes like smoke and cedarwood and something that feels dangerously close to home.

This is bad.

This is catastrophically bad.

This is the kind of bad that leads to dependence, vulnerability, the kind of bad that means I have something to lose again.

I break away from him, gasping, and immediately put the counter between us.

"Don't," I say, and my voice is shaking. "Don't do that again."

He's breathing hard, his amber eyes bright and feverish. "Why not?"

"Because—" I can't seem to form words. My brain is short-circuiting. "Because it's not real. This isn't real. You're going to wake up one day and realize you've wasted three years on someone who's never going to be able to give you what you deserve."

"That's not your decision to make," he says, and there's steel in his voice now. "I'm not asking you to be perfect, Iris. I'm asking you to stop running."

"I can't." The words come out desperate. "I can't stay. I can't do this. I can't be what you need."

"You already are." He moves toward me, and I hold up my hands.

"No." I shake my head, backing toward the door. "This is exactly what Lucian wants. He wants me isolated and vulnerable and dependent on someone. He wants me to have something to lose."

Kael's expression hardens. "Lucian Vex?"

"He's been circling for weeks," I say, the words tumbling out in my panic. "Maven didn't tell you? He's been sending messages, testing the borders. He's waiting for me to let my guard down. And if I do—if I let myself feel this—then he wins."

"He doesn't win anything," Kael says, and there's something dangerous in his voice now. Something that sounds like a promise. "I won't let him."

"You can't protect me from him," I say. "You can't protect me from myself. I'm a liability, Kael. I always have been. That's why my pack cast me out."

The words hang in the air between us, and I watch the realization dawn on his face—the moment he understands that I'm not just scared. I'm terrified. Of him. Of this. Of the possibility that I might actually matter to someone again.

"You're not a liability," he says quietly. "You're the strongest person I know, and you're running because you're afraid. But I'm not going anywhere."

"You should be," I whisper. "You really should be."

I turn and walk out of the medical quarters before he can respond, before I can do something even more stupid than I've already done. Before I can let him see how much I'm breaking apart.

The hallway is cool and empty, and I lean against the stone wall, trying to get my breathing under control. My lips still taste like him. My skin still remembers the feel of his hands.

This is bad.

This is so catastrophically, irreversibly bad.

Because the worst part isn't that I'm afraid of him or that I'm afraid of needing him. The worst part is that I'm not sure I'm strong enough to walk away.

And somewhere in the darkness beyond the pack's territory, I can almost feel Lucian Vex smiling.