The flight from Colorado to Seattle takes two hours. I spend every minute rehearsing what I'll say to my brother, how I'll make him understand what his inaction is costing his children. The triplets sleep in the seats beside me.
By the time we land, the rehearsed words have burned away. Only fury remains.
Kieran's waiting at the house when we arrive. He takes one look at my face and sends the children upstairs with promises of hot chocolate and video games. Phoenix protests until Luna tugs her away, reading the tension neither adult is bothering to hide.
The second their footsteps fade, I turn on him.
"How long have you known?"
Kieran's jaw tightens. "About?"
"That kids at school are shoving your children in the hallways. Calling them monsters. Making Luna feel like her gift is something shameful." I step closer, voice dropping to something dangerous. "How long have you known and done nothing?"
"I'm handling it."
The laugh that escapes me is sharp, bitter. "Phoenix told me about Tyler. About the whispers and the shoving and the teacher who calls Orion aggressive for being smarter than him. That's not handling—that's neglect."
Something flashes across Kieran's face. Pain, maybe. Or guilt. But his posture stays rigid, defensive. "You don't understand the situation. There are political considerations, pack dynamics that require careful—"
"Political considerations?" I'm shouting now, the control I've been maintaining finally shattering. "Your daughter cries herself to sleep and you're worried about pack dynamics?"
"Don't pretend you understand what it means to lead." His voice rises to match mine. "Every decision I make affects hundreds of wolves. I can't just storm into a school and start threatening humans because my children had a bad week."
"That’s what you call this?! Luna organized my entire apartment because having things in order makes her feel safe when everything else feels chaotic. Phoenix hasn't stopped moving since she arrived because if she stops, she has to think about what those kids say to her. Orion asked me if being smart was bad because his teacher makes him feel like his brain is something wrong."
I'm in his face now, close enough to see his pupils dilate, feel the Alpha power radiating off him in waves. Any other wolf would submit. I don't.
"They're suffering, Kieran. And you're hiding behind Alpha authority instead of actually protecting them."
"I’m doing that." His fist slams into the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall. "Everything I do is to protect this family. You think I don't want to tear that school apart? Destroy every person who makes them cry?"
"Then why haven't you?"
"Sometimes protection means restraint, playing the long game instead of giving in to every violent impulse." He's breathing hard, chest heaving. "You show up after a week with them and think you understand better than me? I'm their father. I know what's best for my children."
The words land like a slap.
"Your children." I taste the bitterness on my tongue. "Right. DNA settled everything so neatly."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I was there too." My voice drops, rough with emotions I've spent years burying. "That night nine years ago, remember? I held her through her heat alongside you and watched her come apart in my arms. Like you, I spent years searching for her when she was gone."
Kieran goes still, something dangerous flickering in his eyes.
"The bond chose you," I continue. "But that doesn't erase what I feel for them. And her. It doesn't erase the responsibility I carry."
"They're not yours to feel responsible for!"
"They're not just yours either." I meet his gaze without flinching. "They're hers. Thalia's. And she's watching them suffer while you play political games."
"Don't bring her into this."
"She's already in this! She's been, since you started prioritizing pack optics over your own children's wellbeing." I shake my head, disgusted. "I thought you'd changed, and becoming a father would finally teach you that some things matter more than power."
"You think this is about power?" Kieran's voice cracks. "I'm terrified every single day that I'll make the wrong choice and destroy them the way I almost destroyed her. The way I destroyed you."
The admission catches me off guard.
"I know what I took from you." His eyes glisten with something that might be tears. "The mate bond, the family you wanted, everything. And I've spent every day since trying to be worthy of what I was given and not to fail them."
"Then stop." My voice softens despite the anger still churning through me. "Stop letting fear of making the wrong choice become an excuse for making no choice at all."
"It's not that simple."
"It is, actually." I grip his shoulder, force him to look at me. "You're their father, so act like it. Burn down the school if you have to. But stop letting your children feel alone while you deliberate about political consequences."
Movement at the top of the stairs catches my attention.
Thalia stands there, frozen mid-step, her expression unreadable. I don't know how long she's been listening, how much she's heard. But her eyes find mine and hold, something shifting in their depths.
"Lysander." She says my name like a question and an answer all at once.
"Thalia." I release Kieran's shoulder, step back. "I didn't mean to—"
"You flew here." Her voice is soft, wondering. "You flew here to fight for them."
"Someone had to."
She descends the stairs slowly, each step measured. Kieran watches her approach with wary tension, reading something in her body language I can't decipher. The mate bond between them must be screaming with conflicting emotions.
She stops in front of me. Close enough that I can smell her shampoo, see the faint shadows under her eyes that speak to sleepless nights. Close enough that my heart does something painful in my chest.
"Thank you for coming all this way," the words come out rough.
"Always." The word escapes before I can stop it, carrying weight I didn't intend to reveal.
Her hand finds my arm, squeezes gently. The contact sends warmth spreading through me, familiar and dangerous. I've spent a year convincing myself I'm over her, that the bond chose correctly, that Kieran is who she needs.
But standing here with her gratitude shining in her eyes, feeling the ghost of what we almost had, all those careful walls start crumbling.
"I should check on the kids," she says quietly. "Make sure they're settling in."
She releases my arm and moves past me toward the stairs. I watch her go, trying to steady my breathing, trying to remember that she's my brother's mate, that what I'm feeling is just residual attachment and nothing more.
Kieran's gaze burns into my back.
"She's mine." His voice carries a warning. "The bond confirmed it, and whatever you think you're feeling—"
"I know who she belongs to." I turn to face him, keep my expression neutral despite the chaos roiling inside me. "This isn't about her but her children."
But even as I say it, I know it's not entirely true.
Thalia's footsteps fade upstairs. Her presence lingers like a question I'm not allowed to answer, a door I sealed shut that somehow keeps cracking open.
Safety, I told myself when I moved to Colorado. Distance would make it easier.
I was wrong.
Some distances can't be measured in miles. Some feelings don't care about mate bonds or DNA or the careful lies we tell ourselves about who we're allowed to want.