Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the old safehouse shutters.
Warm, soft, golden—
a color I hadn't seen in what felt like centuries.
Elliot woke first.
Not the half-conscious mumbling from before.
Not the panicked, instinctive clutching.
But awake.
Clear.
And pressed entirely against me.
His head rested on my chest.
Both arms wrapped around my waist.
Legs tangled with the blanket we were half sharing.
One of his hands rested under my shirt
—warm, steady, aware.
I froze.
Not from fear.
But because every single boy in the room
was already awake
and watching.
Rowan's face was bright red and scandalized.
Chandler's jaw was clenched so hard I could hear his teeth grind.
Horace sat very still, calm but tense.
Lucian stared at the ceiling like he was trying not to die.
The Phase Zero children slept in a circle pressed against my legs and hips like a little pack.
Elliot breathed out slowly.
"…Elle…?"
His voice was low from sleep—
soft, rough, intimate in a way that made my heartbeat throb.
"Yes?" I whispered.
He shifted, his face brushing against the fabric of my shirt—
his breath warm against my skin.
"I can smell you better now."
Rowan made a tiny squeak.
Chandler muttered something that definitely wasn't polite.
Horace exhaled slowly, controlled.
Lucian held his tablet like a shield.
Elliot didn't notice any of them.
He breathed in again—
slowly, like savoring something.
"…you smell… different."
I blinked.
"Different how?"
He lifted his head just enough to look at me.
His blue eyes were clearer than they'd been in days.
"Warmer," he whispered.
"Like… something I don't have a word for."
Rowan's breath hitched.
Chandler's fists tightened.
Horace's back straightened.
Lucian looked like he was calculating ten things at once.
Elliot's fingers under my shirt stroked the skin softly—
absently—
as if exploring warmth he needed to memorize.
I shivered.
He noticed.
His gaze darkened slightly—
not dangerous, but instinctive.
Possessive.
Then he leaned in closer, nose brushing the base of my neck.
Rowan squeaked again.
Chandler snapped:
"HEY—"
Horace held up a quieting hand.
Lucian whispered under his breath:
"…this isn't just imprinting…"
Elliot inhaled deeply against my throat.
His voice was a thread of sound.
"…you smell like…
mine."
Rowan practically collapsed into himself.
Chandler nearly stood up.
Horace's fingers flexed.
Lucian swore into his palm.
I swallowed hard.
"Elliot—
you're overwhelmed. It's just instinct—"
But he shook his head.
"No.
I know what instinct feels like."
His hand slid out from under my shirt, moving to rest over my ribs instead—
still warm, still close.
"This is… different."
Chandler snorted harshly.
"What, you're in love now? Overnight? Because she smells nice?"
Rowan glared at him.
"Shut up, Chandler!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, are YOU not losing your mind right now?" Chandler snapped back.
Horace stood.
"Enough."
The authority in his voice hit the room like a quiet command.
Rowan stiffened.
Chandler clicked his teeth shut.
Lucian nearly saluted.
Elliot didn't react—
still staring at me.
Horace approached us, but not threateningly.
Measured.
Grounding.
"Elleanore," he said softly.
"There's something different about your scent."
My breath caught.
"What?"
Lucian stepped closer, tablet in hand.
"I—I didn't want to tell you until I was sure but…"
He hesitated.
"After the Below… your scent signature changed."
Rowan blinked.
"How? What does that mean?"
Lucian met my eyes.
"It means the Below recognized you.
It marked you.
Not physically—
but on a biological level."
Chandler scowled.
"In English, genius."
Lucian swallowed.
"She smells like safety.
Like an anchor.
Like stability under threat."
His voice dropped.
"In omegaverse biology…
that smell is extremely… attractive."
Rowan went red.
Chandler cursed quietly.
Horace's jaw tightened.
Elliot leaned into me again, murmuring:
"…yeah.
Exactly."
I stared at him.
"Elliot—"
He pressed his forehead to my collarbone.
"I'm not confused anymore," he whispered.
"I'm not scared.
But I don't want to let go."
I felt his breath through fabric.
Warm.
Soft.
Dangerous.
Rowan inhaled shakily.
Chandler muttered something under his breath.
Horace stepped closer, placing a calm hand on Elliot's shoulder.
"Elliot.
You need to give her space."
Elliot lifted his head slowly.
"No."
Chandler's eyebrows shot up.
Rowan stared.
Lucian made a noise like he wanted to hide.
Horace remained still.
"Elliot," he said again.
"Let her breathe."
Elliot's fingers tightened slightly on my waist.
Then his voice—
still soft, still gentle—
but with an edge:
"I'll let go…
if she asks me to."
The air thickened.
Everyone looked at me.
Elliot's eyes were open and clear,
not dazed,
not confused.
He was asking.
Really asking.
Do you want me to stop?
My lips parted.
"I'm not uncomfortable," I said quietly.
Rowan made a strangled little sound.
Chandler looked away, jaw tightening.
Horace's eyes softened, approval flickering quietly at the edges.
Lucian whispered:
"…this is getting complicated…"
Elliot exhaled—
not with relief,
but something warmer.
His voice dropped.
"…then let me stay."
He rested his head on my shoulder,
pressing close in a way that wasn't improper—
but undeniably intimate.
And the room shifted.
Subtle.
Warm.
Electric.
Rowan leaned against my arm, needing closeness too.
Chandler moved nearer on instinct, though he scowled about it.
Horace stayed beside us, steady and protective.
Lucian silently adjusted the fire, cheeks flushed.
And Elliot—
Elliot held me like he had been waiting to breathe again.
"…Elle…"
"Yes?"
"…don't push me away."
"I'm not."
"…good…"
And his fingers curled gently in my shirt—
a touch meant to comfort him
but warming something in me I wasn't prepared for.
The morning sun glowed over us,
soft and golden,
like a blanket over a room full of warmth
and almost-dangerous closeness.
Not explicit.
Not rushed.
But intimate.
Sensual in the way breathing can be.
In the way closeness becomes a promise.
In the way five boys watched me
like I was something fragile
and wanted.
And for the first time—
I didn't pull back.
The Line They Pretend Doesn't Exist
The safehouse warmed quickly as the sun rose.
It wasn't the fire.
It wasn't the blankets.
It wasn't even the body heat from the boys gathered around me.
It was something else—
a slow simmering warmth
that felt like a question hanging in the air
no one wanted to answer.
Elliot lifted his head again, sitting up this time—
very slowly.
His hair brushed my jaw.
His breath touched my cheek.
And when he opened his eyes,
they were clear.
Aware.
And focused entirely on me.
Rowan noticed and sucked in a quiet breath.
Chandler's jaw clenched instinctively.
Horace straightened from the wall, watching carefully.
Lucian froze mid-scan.
Elliot's fingers rose and touched my cheek.
Gentle.
Uncertain.
Curious.
"…Elle…"
"Yes?"
He blinked once.
"Did I dream…
that you held me all night?"
My heart thudded.
"You weren't dreaming."
His lips parted—
surprised, relieved, something else.
"…and you didn't push me away?"
"I said I wouldn't."
Chandler muttered under his breath:
"That's because you were basically glued to her."
Rowan elbowed him, scandalized.
"Chandler!"
"What? I'm not wrong!"
Horace sighed.
Lucian pretended to be extremely busy with his tablet.
But Elliot didn't look at any of them.
Just me.
Slowly, he moved closer.
Closer.
Until his knee touched mine.
Until his face hovered inches away.
"…can I…?" he whispered.
I blinked.
"Can you what?"
He swallowed, eyes flickering to my lips for a split second—
then to my shoulder—
then to the hollow of my throat.
Not improper.
Not explicit.
But unmistakably intimate.
"…I want to stay close," he said softly.
"But I want to know if it's okay.
Now that I'm actually awake."
Rowan's breath hitched.
Chandler stiffened, eyes narrowing.
Horace watched without blinking—
not jealous,
but carefully measuring the moment.
Lucian blushed so hard he nearly dropped his tablet.
I breathed out slowly.
"…it's okay."
Elliot's exhale trembled.
Then he leaned in—
slowly, cautiously—
resting his forehead against mine.
His nose brushed mine—
barely there.
A ghost of a touch.
Soft.
Warm.
Rowan looked like he was going to explode.
Chandler's hand tightened into a fist again.
But he didn't interrupt.
Horace's gaze darkened—
quiet, controlled.
Lucian cleared his throat softly.
"This is… ah…
a very advanced stage of imprint resonance," he said quietly.
"Usually it only happens between—"
Chandler snapped:
"DON'T. Finish. That. Sentence."
Lucian immediately shut up.
ROWAN BREAKS FIRST
Rowan scooted closer on my right—
nervous but determined.
"Elle," he whispered, voice pleading,
"I… I know Elliot needs you most right now.
I'm not trying to interrupt.
But… can I… also…?"
Chandler scoffed loudly.
"Seriously? You're going to ask her in front of everyone?"
Rowan glared.
"I'm not doing anything inappropriate! I just want to be close too!"
Chandler folded his arms.
"Uh-huh."
Rowan looked at me, cheeks bright pink.
"Just… your hand.
Or your shoulder.
Just something so I know you're not—
I don't know—
floating away from me too."
My heart softened.
"Of course you can."
Rowan's face lit up—
and he immediately leaned against my arm, fingers curling around my sleeve.
A quiet sigh escaped him.
Soft.
Almost relieved to the point of tears.
Elliot blinked at him slowly, but didn't push him away.
Instead, Elliot rested a hand over mine—
as if silently negotiating proximity.
Rowan blushed again, but didn't retreat.
Chandler muttered:
"…unbelievable…"
But he shifted just slightly closer too.
Not touching.
Not asking.
Just… closer.
Instinctively.
CHANDLER LOSES HIS MASK
Chandler didn't speak for a long while.
He stared at the fire.
Then at Elliot.
Then at the children.
Then at me.
Finally he blurted:
"This is stupid."
Rowan glared.
"Shut up, Chandler—"
"No. I'm being serious!" Chandler snapped, running a hand through his hair.
"I've been trying to keep my distance and not make things weird but—
damn it—
I hate seeing everyone cling to her except me!"
Rowan froze.
Horace blinked once.
Lucian's jaw dropped.
Elliot turned his head slowly.
I stared.
Chandler flushed—actually flushed—
and looked away with a scowl.
"I'm not asking for anything weird," he muttered.
"But—
like Rowan—
I also want to know she's here."
His voice dropped.
"And safe."
It was the closest thing to vulnerability I'd ever seen from him.
I lifted one hand from my lap.
Chandler stared at it.
Then he looked at my eyes.
Then back at my hand.
Finally—
as if admitting defeat—
he reached out
and placed his palm against mine.
A quiet spark went through me.
Warm.
Soft.
Not romantic—
but deeply intimate.
Chandler swallowed tightly.
"…don't laugh," he muttered.
"I'm not laughing."
He nodded once—
almost shy—
and didn't let go.
Elliot watched silently, expression unreadable.
Rowan shifted nervously closer.
Horace's lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile.
Lucian whispered:
"…multi-imprint resonance confirmed…"
And instantly froze when all four boys glared at him.
HORACE'S TURN
Horace stepped forward, voice low.
"Elleanore."
I met his eyes.
He held out a hand—
not demanding,
not desperate.
Offering.
"I won't ask for anything you don't want," he said.
"I only want to be close enough to protect you."
Rowan stiffened.
Chandler shot him a look.
Elliot lifted his head slightly.
But I—
I breathed.
Softly.
Warmly.
And reached out.
Horace took my hand in both of his—
gentle, controlled strength—
as if holding something precious
and fragile
and fiercely important.
He bowed his head slightly.
His thumb brushed the back of my hand.
Slow.
Subtle.
Electrically intimate.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Chandler looked away, muttering curses.
Rowan fidgeted with embarrassment.
Elliot's breath hitched—
but he didn't pull away from me.
THE CHILDREN STIR
Sev stirred at my hip.
Len leaned into my arm.
Elo tucked himself closer.
The remaining children crawled toward me like sleepy animals,
pressing into my legs and the hems of my clothes.
Lucian watched silently.
"They're stabilizing through her scent," he whispered.
"All of you are."
Chandler shot him a look.
"Don't make it sound scientific.
You're killing the mood."
Rowan choked.
Elliot laughed softly—
the first genuine laugh since the Below.
I blinked up at him.
He gazed back at me,
eyes warm.
Focused.
Clear.
And he whispered:
"…Elle…"
"Yes?"
His hand slipped from my waist
to my cheek.
Soft.
Cautious.
Almost reverent.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For coming for me."
My breath caught.
Rowan bit his lip.
Chandler tensed.
Horace's gaze sharpened.
Lucian looked away.
Elliot leaned in—
not kissing,
but pressing his forehead to mine again,
warm breath mingling with mine.
"…and for staying."
I didn't pull away.
Not this time.
Not even a little.
The safehouse fell silent around us—
filled with warmth, breath, closeness,
and the slow, unmistakable rise of tension
that promised the next chapters
would only draw us closer.