Downstairs, the kitchen carried the quiet weight of a night spent in distress.
Ivy and Oaklen sat at the small breakfast table, each holding a large mug of coffee that had long since gone lukewarm. This being their second round already, or maybe a third. If either of them were honest enough to count. The caffeine did little to chase away the heaviness settling in their bones.
Eamon's call the night before had fractured whatever peace they managed to build.
Since then, the hours had slipped by in a blur of glowing screens and tightening chests. Articles, posts and comment threads seemed to multiply the longer they stared at them, and each one was sharper than the last. Every one of them carving something cruel and careless into their son's name.
They could survive through all of that until... that video.
Ivy's grip tightened slightly around her mug.
Acheron had never spoken much about those years. Not directly, at least and definitely not in a way that painted the full picture. What little they knew had come in fragments, carefully selected, clinical and filtered through Dr Pace's measured explanations, but most of it focused on his recovery process.
The video, however, is different. It was raw and undeniable. The memory of it played behind Ivy's eyes again, uninvited. The way his shoulders had shaken in fear, and the way his hands had come together, trembling, begging for something he hated.
Ivy's breath hitched; she had watched it once, then again and again. She didn't know how many times she re-watched it, but each time she hoped, foolishly, that the outcome would change. That if she looked closely enough, she could find something that would soften it or even undo it.
It never did.
Tears slipped quietly down her cheeks; if she could, she would have climbed through the screen. Wrapped her arms around that broken version of her son and refused to let anyone touch him again. To take all his pain away.
Would his pain ever lessen?
Would the attacks ever stop?
Beside her, Oaklen sat in silence, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed somewhere distant. The anger sat heavier in him, quieter, but no less sharp. If Ivy's grief was an open wound, his was something buried deeper, harder to reach, but just as painful.
All they could do now was be there, hold him together when the world tried to pull him apart and trust that Eamon would do what he had promised. Get their revenge.
Still, the chill clung to them.
It had settled into the room hours ago and refused to leave.
Soft footsteps on the stairs broke through their thoughts. They both looked up at once.
Acheron appeared in the kitchen doorway, his silver hair in complete disarray, sticking up in soft, unruly tufts. In his arms, Nimbus rested like a tiny, satisfied king, one small white paw draped dramatically over Acheron's wrist. The kitten's pink tongue peeked out just slightly between two tiny teeth.
"Morning," Acheron said softly. His voice was gentle, but his eyes were a little red and puffy.
Ivy's heart clenched.
"Morning, honey," she replied quickly, standing halfway before she even realised she had moved. "How did you sleep?"
Acheron shifted Nimbus slightly, who immediately made a small, offended sound at the adjustment.
"Alright… I think," Acheron said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Nimbus has very strong opinions about sleep schedules."
As if on cue, Nimbus let out a small, squeaky meow and stretched, his tiny claws catching lightly on Acheron's sleeve.
Acheron looked down at him.
"Yes, I'm talking about you," he murmured.
Nimbus blinked slowly, unapologetic.
Acheron huffed a quiet laugh, then looked back up.
"I invited Aviv over before the DAA meeting," he added, a little more hesitantly. "I thought… it might be good."
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Ivy brightened instantly, relief slipping into her voice like sunlight breaking through clouds. She turned on her heel and hurried toward the pantry with renewed purpose. "I'll make something for you both."
Cupboards opened in quick succession as she began pulling out flour, sugar, and anything that looked remotely sweet and comforting.
Oaklen let out a soft chuckle at her sudden burst of energy before his attention returned to Acheron.
"When are we expecting him?" he asked.
Acheron adjusted Nimbus again, this time lifting the kitten slightly higher. Nimbus responded by placing a paw directly against Acheron's chin.
Acheron froze.
"…Sir," he whispered to the kitten, "this is incredibly disrespectful."
Nimbus pressed his paw down more firmly.
Acheron sighed and gently lowered him.
"As soon as possible, I think," he answered. "Aviv said he'd leave right away, so… maybe within the hour?"
"That's perfect," Ivy called from the pantry, already halfway through measuring something.
Acheron smiled softly.
"When he gets here, would you mind letting him in?" he asked. "I was thinking of sketching in the garden for a bit. With Nimbus."
He glanced down at the kitten, who had now curled into a small, purring crescent in his arms. Before he could turn, Oaklen reached out and gently caught his arm.
Acheron paused.
There was something in his father's expression that he couldn't identify.
"How much did you see?" Oaklen asked quietly.
Acheron stilled.
For a brief moment, he could feel the weight of the question settle between them. He could see it clearly now. The tension in their shoulders and the exhaustion in their eyes.
How bad was it?
"None," Acheron said after a second. "Eamon called me this morning. He warned me not to look at anything."
Oaklen exhaled slowly, relief softening his features.
"That's good," he said.
Acheron nodded, but his fingers tightened slightly around Nimbus.
"I can still tell it's bad," he murmured. "You both look like you haven't slept at all."
Nimbus lifted his head and bumped it gently against Acheron's chin, as if trying to interrupt his thoughts.
Acheron absentmindedly scratched behind his ear.
"It must have been really awful," he added quietly.
Oaklen's hand moved to Acheron's shoulder, giving it a firm, grounding squeeze.
"It's best to…" he hesitated, searching for something that didn't sound empty. "Don't think about it."
The words felt insufficient even as he said them.
Acheron gave a small nod anyway.
Nimbus chose that moment to wriggle upward and press his face directly against Acheron's neck, purring loudly as if determined to drown out the heaviness in the room.
Acheron let out a soft breath.
"Yeah," he said gently, more to himself than anyone else. "I'll try."
Then, with one last small glance at his parents, he turned toward the garden doors.
While reading through the comments that so casually—so hungrily—picked apart and sexualised his son, Oaklen felt something dark and violent coil low in his chest. It wasn't just disgust. It was the kind of fury that made his jaw ache from how tightly he clenched it.
If he could reach through the screen, drag each of those faceless voices into the light… he would. No hesitation and definitely no mercy. He just wants to silence them, one by one, until there is nothing left but quiet.
Ivy's hand slipped into his before the thought could root any deeper.
Her palm was warm, small, but unyielding and grounding.
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, her thumb brushing once over his knuckles. She said no words; she didn't need to. Oaklen exhaled slowly, the storm in him easing just enough to keep it controlled.
She pulled away after a moment, returning to the cake mixture with deliberate focus. Stirring and folding kept her hands busy and her thoughts from wandering to the same terrible places he had just visited.
For now, distraction was mercy.
Acheron wandered through the garden, his fingers brushing absentmindedly over petals as he passed. He tapped each one almost as if he were greeting them. His mother had poured herself into this place, every colour and curve chosen with care, and it showed. The air itself felt gentler here, scented with sweetness and sunlight.
He paused when he noticed a small clearing tucked between bursts of yellow and pink blooms. A quiet little pocket he hadn't visited before. It is perfect.
He laid out the picnic blanket with a small flourish, smoothing it twice… then once more, just to be sure. Nimbus was placed right in the middle like royalty.
"Don't run off," Acheron murmured, tapping the kitten lightly on the nose.
Nimbus blinked.
Then, he immediately attempted to bite his finger.
Acheron huffed a soft laugh, pulling back just in time. "You're very fierce, I see."
Settling down, he pulled out his sketchbook and glanced around, searching for inspiration. He focused on the flowers, the way the light is filtered through the trees and of course, how shadows are cast across the ground around him. All of it breathtaking, yes, but none of it caught. Nothing settled in his chest in that way that made his fingers itch.
A small, indignant squeak drew his gaze downward. Nimbus crouched, ready to pounce, staring down the knitted ball like it was his sworn enemy. He let out another tiny squeak—his own earnest declaration of war.
Acheron's lips curved faintly. "So brave," he murmured.
Nimbus pounced, missed, slid dramatically across the blanket, then spun around with exaggerated offence before launching himself at it again. When the ball slipped away, Nimbus froze, crouched low, little tail flicking… then attacked with twice the determination, tiny teeth gnawing at the yarn as it had personally insulted him.
Acheron's lips curved into something soft and unguarded.
He shifted, tucking one leg under himself, chewing lightly on the inside of his cheek as he began sketching. His pencil moved quickly, capturing Nimbus mid-battle, creating his own little drama, filled with glorious adventure.
Without thinking, he unwrapped a lollipop and popped it into his mouth, the stick tilting slightly to one side as he drew. Every now and then, it clicked softly against his teeth when he got too focused, his brows pulling together in concentration.
On the page, Nimbus grew into something heroic. A tiny warrior with a crooked belt and an oversized sword, bravely facing down a monstrous, round beast.
As time passed, the wind picked up slightly, carrying with it voices which drifted closer.
Acheron blinked, glancing up, lollipop shifting from one side of his mouth to the other as he squinted toward the garden path, and there he spotted Avis' flamboyant self, walking with his father, who was in the process of scanning their surroundings, most likely looking for him.
"Over here!" he called, raising his arm, the motion a little too enthusiastic as the lollipop nearly fell out. He caught it quickly, cheeks flushing as he pretended that didn't happen.
Aviv spotted him first.
Of course he did.
"Man—" Aviv announced as he approached, already sounding impressed, "—your garden looks like it belongs in a period drama where someone confesses a forbidden love and then immediately faints."
He dropped onto the blanket without ceremony, sprawling just enough to claim space.
"My mom is talented," Acheron replied, a small, proud smile slipping through despite himself. His fingers tapped twice against the edge of his sketchbook.
Aviv leaned forward, eyes landing on Nimbus.
"Well, well… and who is this little cutie?"
He lowered his voice dramatically, like they were in on some secret. "Hello, little Nimbus. I'm your uncle. The cool one."
Nimbus paused mid-attack. He stared, his crystal blue eyes judging. He cautiously allowed a soft pat, his tiny body relaxing just a fraction before he decided, no, the ball still required immediate destruction.
"He's really cute," Aviv said, watching the chaos unfold.
"Truly," Acheron agreed, his voice warm, the word softened around the lollipop stick.
Aviv's attention shifted. "Wait—what's that?"
He leaned closer, shoulder nudging Acheron's as he peered at the sketchbook.
A small comic strip filled the page.
Nimbus, transformed into a fearless little adventurer, stood bravely with his sword raised, facing off against a monstrous creature that looked suspiciously like the knitted ball.
Aviv went still, his attention completely fixed on the drawings before him.
"This is adorable." The word came out like he'd discovered something rare.
Acheron's ears pinked almost instantly. He ducked his head slightly, tapping the page once with his finger. "Thank you…"
"Can I post it?" Aviv asked, already half-reaching for his phone. "People need to see this."
Acheron hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Um… sure."
Aviv grinned.
"Excellent. I shall elevate your career."
He snapped a few photos, adjusting angles with surprising care before selecting one. His fingers moved quickly as he uploaded it, captioning it:
From my favourite artist.
He tagged Acheron without a second thought.
Avis is quite a well-known composer and pianist; his social accounts all had quite a few followers. Within moments, the likes and comments began to flood in. Compliments, admiration, people charmed by the tiny warrior cat and the unique cuteness of the art.
Not long after the tone shifted, subtle at first but then sharper and more direct.
[Your favourite artist or your favourite drug buddy?]
[Didn't he trend last night for something else?]
[This the same guy from that video?]
Beneath the comment is a link, leading straight to the video.
Aviv had seen parts of it earlier that morning, impossible not to. It had spread like wildfire. He had intended to ignore it, bury it under better things. But his thumb stilled against the screen, because more comments were pouring in and they weren't getting kinder.
Not even close.
[@AlphaDominant88:That kid is gorgeous. No wonder someone wanted to claim him.]
[@VelvetNight:I'm sorry, but those eyes?? He knows exactly what he's doing.]
[@PackTruthNews:This is the omega the Sauveterre lawyer is protecting? Looks like a drug addict begging his dealer.]
[@GreyMarketAlpha: People acting shocked, but some omegas like being handled like this.]
[@BlueCrown:The way he says "I'll do anything"… yeah, that doesn't sound like coercion.]
[@MoonDistrict:I hate to say it, but he's insanely pretty. Silver hair, crying, on his knees… someone's fantasy right there.]
[@TruthHunter:Blackwell family might actually be the victims here. This looks like someone who spiralled and regrets it later.]
[@VantaWolf: If he showed up at my door begging like that, I wouldn't say no either.]
[@OmegaRightsNow: Everyone in this comment section is disgusting. He's clearly in withdrawal.]
[@CrimsonAlpha:Nah. That's not withdrawal. That's someone who knows how to play submissive.]
[@GlassLibrary:The bruises on his arms??? How are people ignoring that?]
[@IronChain: Bruises happen in rough play. People need to stop acting like omegas are fragile.]
[@VelourRose:I feel sick watching this.]
[@CrownDistrictAlpha:I'm just saying… if he's begging like that, he probably did a lot more off camera.]
[@NightCourier:The fact that people are getting turned on by this is exactly the problem.]
[@ColdTruthMedia: Funny how the "abused omega" only comes forward after rehab.]
Aviv continued to scroll further down, his stomach swirling in disgust.