The mansion didn't feel like a cage. It felt like a shield. That was the problem. Tina stood near the center of the sitting room, hands curled into the sleeves of Andrew's hoodie, breathing in what little honey scent still clung to the fabric. It was faint. Stressed. Fractured.
Vanilla-mint stirred around her in uneven pulses—not explosive, not feral. Just… scared. Her alpha mother stood beside her, one hand resting lightly between Tina's shoulder blades. Not restraining. Not commanding. Just there.
Her omega mother sat across from them, eyes sharp, attentive, reading every flicker of Tina's breathing like she had since Tina was a child. Andrew's omega father stood near the window, phone in his hand, jaw tight with forced composure. No one was yelling. That scared Tina more than shouting ever could.
"They're tracing the call."
Her alpha mom said calmly.
"Private line. Encrypted, but not perfect."
Tina nodded.
"I know."
