Lysander's POV
The guest room in Kieran's house feels like borrowed space. Every surface reminds me I don't belong here—the family photos on the walls, the children's drawings magnetized to the refrigerator, the faint scent of Thalia's shampoo that lingers in hallways she walks through daily.
Three days since I arrived. Three days of helping research the school's policies, drafting formal complaints, pretending I'm here for purely practical reasons. The children believe it. Kieran tolerates it through gritted teeth, though he knows Marcus doesn’t tolerate that. Thalia watches me with an expression I can't decipher.
The nights stretch longest. I lie awake listening to the house settle, to muffled sounds of family life happening around me but never including me.
Tonight, at nearly midnight, I give up on sleep and pull out my laptop. Claire's name glows on my contact list, and I click before I can second-guess myself.
She answers on the third ring, face filling my screen with warm familiarity. Her hair is down, loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back like she wears it at work. She's in what looks like pajamas, settled into her couch with a glass of wine.
"Hey, stranger." Her smile is genuine, reaching her eyes. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten my number."
"Long days." I run a hand through my hair, settle back against the headboard. "The school situation is more complicated than I expected."
"How are the kids handling everything?"
"Better now that we're making progress. Phoenix actually smiled at dinner tonight. Luna's been organizing everyone's schedules like a tiny project manager."
Claire laughs, the sound soft through my laptop speakers. "That tracks with everything you've told me about her."
We fall into easy conversation about work—the Harrison case moving forward, a new client interested in our contract services, office dynamics I've missed being away. She fills me in on details with the kind of thoroughness I've come to appreciate, her sharp mind laying out information in logical sequences.
"The partners keep asking when you're coming back," she says. "I think they're afraid you'll decide to stay permanently."
"I won't. This is temporary."
"Is it?" Something shifts in her tone, careful and probing. "You've been there almost a week now. And the way you talk about those kids..."
"They're my niece and nephews. My family."
"Aha. The one you moved three states away from." She sets down her wine glass, meets my eyes through the screen. "Lysander, can I be honest with you?"
"Always."
"I miss you." The words come out soft but certain. "Not just at work. I miss our lunches that run too long. The way you explain things without making me feel stupid for not knowing them. The way you actually listen when I talk."
My chest tightens. "Claire..."
"I know we've kept things professional, and there are reasons for that." She takes a breath. "But I've been thinking about possibilities. About what happens when you come back, and whether we could be something more than colleagues who flirt too much."
I should feel something—excitement, anticipation, the thrill of being wanted by someone uncomplicated and available and genuinely interested in building something with me.
Instead, I feel hollow.
"You don't have to answer now," she adds quickly, reading my silence. "I just wanted you to know where I stand. What I'm hoping for."
"I appreciate you telling me." The words come out automatically, polite and empty. "You deserve honesty about where I am."
"And where is that?"
I open my mouth to answer and nothing comes. The truth lodges in my throat like broken glass.
I've been leaning on Claire. Using her warmth and her interest as a shield against feelings I can't have, a distraction from a woman who belongs to my brother. Every lunch, every lingering conversation, every moment I let the possibility of something more develop between us—none of it was about her.
It was about trying to forget Thalia, and this realization hits with nauseating clarity. I didn't choose Claire. I hid behind her.
"Lysander?" Her voice pulls me back. "You went somewhere just now."
"I'm sorry." The apology encompasses more than she knows. "I'm not in a place where I can give you the answer you deserve."
"Is that because of what's happening with your family?"
"Partly."
"And the other part?"
I can't tell her. I can't explain that my heart is tangled up in a woman I watched choose someone else, that I moved to Colorado running from feelings that apparently followed me anyway. Can't admit that I've been using her kindness as a bandage over wounds that refuse to heal.
"It's complicated," I finally say. "More complicated than I realized when I left."
Claire's expression shifts—understanding dawning, followed by something that looks like quiet hurt. "Complicated is your favorite word. There should be someone else."
"It's not that simple."
"It never is, with you." She sighs, but there's no anger in it. Just resignation. "I'm not going to wait forever, Lysander. I care about you, but I won't be anyone's second choice."
"You shouldn't have to be."
She picks up her wine glass again, takes a long sip. "Figure out what you want. I'll be here when you do, but not indefinitely."
"That's fair."
A small smile crosses her face, sad but genuine. "Take care of those kids. They're lucky to have an uncle who fights for them."
"Goodnight, Claire."
"Goodnight."
The call ends and I sit in the sudden silence, laptop screen going dark, guilt coiling tight in my chest. She deserves better than what I've been giving her. She needs someone who sees her clearly instead of through the haze of trying to forget someone else.
I exhale shakily, the weight of the conversation pressing down on me.
"Lysander…"
I freeze.
Thalia stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim hallway light. She's in sleep clothes—soft pants, an oversized shirt that probably belongs to Kieran—her hair loose around her shoulders. I don't know how long she's been standing there, how much she heard.
Her expression is unreadable. Careful in a way that makes my stomach drop.
"Thalia." I close the laptop, set it aside. "I didn't hear you coming."
"I was getting water. Saw your light on." She doesn't move from the doorway, maintaining distance. "Who's Claire?"
The question lands like a blade. She heard enough.
"A colleague from Colorado."
"Just a colleague, or..?"
"It's complicated."
"That word keeps coming up." She tilts her head, studying me with those brown eyes that see too much. "You told her there's someone else."
My heart pounds against my ribs. The space between us feels charged, dangerous, full of things neither of us should say. I'm at her mate's house. Her children sleep down the hall.
Everything about this moment is wrong, but she's looking at me like she needs an answer. Like whatever I say next matters more than it should.
"Claire deserves honesty I'm not ready to give." I force the words out carefully. "She deserves someone who's actually present when they're with her."
"And you're not?"
"Not the way she needs me to be."
Thalia's silent for a long moment. Something fragile tightens between us—a thread that shouldn't exist, a connection the mate bond should have severed.
"Why did you really come to Seattle?" Her voice drops, barely above a whisper.
I should lie. Should give her the safe answer about protecting the children, family obligation, about anything other than the raw truth clawing at my chest.
"You know the reason."
Her breath catches, audible in the quiet house. She takes a half-step back, like distance might protect her from whatever's building in this moment.
"I should go back to bed." Her voice wavers slightly. "Kieran will wonder where I am."
The mention of my brother's name lands like cold water. Reality reasserts itself—she's his mate, his wife, the mother of his children. Whatever I feel doesn't change the fundamental truth of their bond.
"Goodnight, Thalia."
She lingers for one more heartbeat. Then she's gone, footsteps fading down the hallway, leaving me alone with the weight of everything we didn't say.
I stare at the empty doorway long after she disappears. Some truths are too dangerous to speak out loud, but silence doesn't make them any less real.