"You outdid yourself, brother."

  Briar's voice carried a note of dry amusement, but Rosie caught the edge beneath it—something cutting, unsaid. The tension in the air thickened, coiling tight like an impending storm.

  Rosie had been careful until now, keeping her head down, knowing better than to trust herself. But she couldn't avoid this moment any longer. She forced herself to look up.

  Only, he wasn't looking at her.

  Luca's sharp gaze was locked on Briar, something silent and dangerous passing between them. A flicker of a challenge. A fight with no words, just the shift of Luca's jaw and the faint, taunting arch of Briar's brow. Then, slowly, Luca blinked—a deliberate, measured thing. A warning.

  Briar's lips twitched. "Don't look so serious, big brother. You might scare her away."

  Luca didn't take the bait. Rosie got the feeling he never did when Briar was like this—poking at wounds for sport.

  And then, finally, his gaze turned to Rosie.

  Unwelcome heat curled low in her stomach at once. She hated how easily he got to her, how a single glance sent her back to that moment—that mortifying moment when he'd caught her looking at him before, watching from afar, and enjoying it.

  The way his lips had curled in satisfaction. The way she had felt it, fluttering in places she'd long forgotten could flutter.

  A voice cut through the tension, mercifully saving her from herself.

  "It's because he had some steam to let out."

  The newcomer stepped forward, the murmur of training fading around them. Warriors paused mid-motion, ears tilted their way. Too many high ranks in one place—it always commanded attention.

  Briar rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Em. That wasn't steam. I thought Luca was one bad punch away from shifting mid-air. That poor Mac never stood a chance."

  Rosie turned to the man—Emlyn.

  He wasn't as tall as Luca, but just as broad, his presence just as intimidating. Yet where Luca carried an aura of raw dominance, all sharp edges and restrained power, Emlyn was something else entirely. Measured. Calculating. He moved with the ease of someone who was always aware—always assessing, always three steps ahead.

  She knew who he was before he even spoke. The Gamma.

  The mind behind strategy, the force behind training, the shield between the pack and its enemies. And looking at him now, she had no doubt he was more than capable of all three.

  As if to prove her right, his gaze swept over the field. One glance—that was all it took for the warriors who had been eavesdropping to snap back into motion, suddenly remembering their training.

  Briar barely seemed to notice, or maybe she just didn't care. She was still watching Luca, her voice slipping into something teasing—sharp, like the edge of a blade dragged over skin.

  "Actually, he did get one," she mused. "When you were distracted, remember, Luca? That wasn't like you. I wonder what turned your head like that."

  Rosie tensed.

  Briar's words always landed like knives—never quite cutting deep, but close enough to make her skin prickle. Yet neither Luca nor his Gamma so much as blinked. Unbothered. Unmoved. As if they'd long grown immune to Briar's games.

  Maybe because everyone had already seen where Luca's attention had gone.

  Or maybe no one wanted to give Briar the satisfaction.

  Her taunt was met with silence, dismissed as beneath acknowledgment. Instead, Emlyn turned to Rosie, his gaze cool, assessing.

  "I don't believe we've been formally introduced." His tone was steady, authoritative, with just enough weight to remind her of his rank. "I am Emlyn, the Gamma."

  He made no move to shake her hand. Just a curt nod—a warrior's greeting.

  Rosie studied him in turn. Light brown hair catching the afternoon sun, strands shifting with the wind. Hazel eyes, flecked with gold, keen and calculating. There was something about them, about him—something that tugged at her memory, just out of reach.

  She pushed the thought aside.

  "Rosie," she answered simply. Then, mirroring his tone, his nod, "The rogue."

  A flicker of amusement ghosted across Emlyn's face, but his expression remained contained.

  "So I've heard."

  Briar hummed, far too pleased with herself. "Oh, don't act so mysterious, Em. You two have already met. Kind of."

  She wiggled her fingers vaguely, as if that explained anything.

  Emlyn's expression barely shifted, but something passed through his eyes—a flicker of warning. A silent command. His gaze cut to Briar, sharp and edged, but she only smirked, reveling in the game she was playing.

  Rosie barely registered their exchange.

  Met?

  The word sat wrong, a puzzle piece shoved into the wrong place.

  The truth was, she felt misplaced. Standing among them—wrapped in delicate fabric while they stood in sweat and muscle—she felt wrong. Like an outsider playing dress-up in a world that didn't belong to her.

  But Luca's piercing stare held even more weight on her skin, pressing into her skin with something she refused to name. She didn't dare meet it. Instead, she latched onto the puzzle in front of her—the Gamma.

  His voice evoked no memories, but his eyes...she knew those eyes.

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  And then it hit her.

  The cold bite of the forest floor. Fear like ice in her veins. Exhaustion dragging her limbs down, her body sinking, sinking—almost lifeless. Blood pooling. Darkness closing in. And then—hands. Strong hands, pulling her back from the edge. Saving her.

  Rosie's breath caught. The realization crashed over her, pulling her under.

  "You saved me."

  Emlyn's brows lifted, surprise flickering across his otherwise serious expression. It was brief—gone almost as soon as it appeared—but not before Rosie caught something else beneath it. Not disbelief. Not denial. Something closer to hesitation.

  "I'm surprised you remember." His voice was measured, controlled, but there was an edge to it—something uneasy, something reluctant.

  As if he hadn't wanted her to recall.

  Rosie swallowed. A sense of unease curled in her stomach. "You carried me here. To Clark." The words felt strange on her tongue, distant yet weighted. "Thank you."

  But Emlyn didn't look pleased. If anything, her gratitude unsettled him. A warrior—a Gamma, no less—should have been used to it, should have welcomed it. But the way his shoulders tensed, the brief flicker in his gaze, told her otherwise.

  Instead of responding, his eyes cut briefly to Luca. Rosie almost turned to follow his gaze, but caught herself in time, only to be left wanting when Emlyn turned back to her.

  Then Emlyn shook his head, dismissing the moment. "It's Luca you should thank." His tone was void of expectation, void of pride—just a simple statement of fact. "I only followed orders."

  And yet, Rosie couldn't shake the way his gaze lingered on Luca.

  Slowly, she turned. Luca was already watching her. Of course he was. His gaze lingered on the two of them, unreadable yet not empty. There was something there, something just out of reach.

  Displeasure?

  His posture remained rigid, shoulders taut with a tension she couldn't quite place. But the moment their eyes met, the furrow in his brow smoothed—too quickly. As if wiping away a trace of something he hadn't meant to show.

  Had he truly given that order?

  The same man who had offered her a home, only to force her to stay. The same man who seemed to tense whenever she was near, yet always watched. The same man who had growled at her for sinking beneath the water—then turned around and taught her to swim with a patience she never would have expected.

  Nothing about Luca fit together. She simply could not follow him.

  And then there was Briar—always watching, always insinuating.

  Emlyn—always on guard when he so much as looked at her.

  And the mate. The mysterious mate. The one she couldn't speak of.

  Too many missing pieces. Too many things that didn't quite add up. Not yet.

  Now that she was looking, Rosie noticed something else.

  No claim.

  Her gaze swept over Luca, searching for it—for the undeniable mark of a mate. But there was nothing. No faded imprint, no lingering bond. Nothing.

  How had she missed this? If he'd ever had a mate, there was no trace of her now. She must have died. Or left him.

  Just like Rosie had left hers.

  Her breath caught as her eyes lifted back to his face—only to realize he wasn't looking at hers. She couldn't help but notice something flicker through her as their gazes didn't lock on each other. Relief, maybe. Deception, possibly.

  Luca's gaze was drifting lower, tracing her. Not in an obvious way. No lingering smirk, no arrogant once-over. It was subtler than that. Calculated. The way she had just examined him. Memorizing. Committing her to memory.

  Rosie should have been offended. But she had just done the same. Not for the first time, either.

  Her eyes lifted back to his face, and she couldn't help but notice something flicker through her as their gazes didn't lock on each other. Relief, maybe. Deception, possibly. But then it dawned on her - he wasn't looking at her face.

  A strange thought flickered through her mind—one she wasn't prepared for.

  She hoped he liked the dress.

  The moment stretched too long. And, of course, Briar thrived in moments like these. She exhaled dramatically, shaking her head.

  "Excuse my brother. He hasn't quite mastered the art of carrying a conversation."

  Rosie tore her eyes from Luca just in time to catch Emlyn rubbing a hand over his jaw—a sure sign of his enduring patience.

  "And you think you're better suited?" Emlyn muttered under his breath.

  Briar gasped, pressing a hand to her chest as if truly wounded. "Who else? Certainly not you, Em. The only thing you know how to charm is a war strategy. I can't imagine what Ailey sees in you."

  Emlyn didn't bother responding. He simply exhaled through his nose—the tired sigh of a man who had endured Briar's antics for far too long.

  Luca, still unreadable, finally broke his gaze away from Rosie. He turned to his sister, his expression cool, but the displeasure lingering beneath the surface was impossible to miss.

  "Why are you here, Briar?"

  His voice was calm, but the weight behind it made it clear—he wasn't asking about the tour.

  Briar's smile turned sweet, but there was an underlying tension as she responded, "You asked me to show her the grounds, remember?"

  But that wasn't what he was really asking.

  Why had she brought Rosie here—into the center of their training—knowing it would cause a stir?

  She was making trouble.

  Luca let out a slow exhale, frustration flickering across his face before disappearing behind his unshakable exterior. He knew he wouldn't win this argument. And Briar knew it too.

  Instead, his gaze slid back to Rosie, heavy and deliberate. She braced herself. She knew what was coming—the same question Clark had asked her that morning.

  "How are you?"

  Such a simple phrase, yet carried too much weight. Rosie loathed it. Loathed how his voice lacked its usual sharpness, loathed the underlying expectation—not a demand, but something quieter. She should have been used to it by now, should have perfected her response, learned how to deflect without feeling exposed.

  But she hadn't.

  The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Briar broke it with a low, knowing hum. Arms crossed, amusement glinting in her eyes, she cast a glance at Luca before settling her gaze back on Rosie—who, despite herself, tensed in anticipation.

  "He doesn't usually pay this much attention to anyone," Briar mused with a slight smirk, "I'd take it as a compliment."

  Rosie blinked.

  "I—what?"

  "Enough, Briar."

  Luca's voice was quiet, but it cut through the air, leaving no room for more games.

  The smirk faded from Briar's lips, but the mischief in her gaze lingered as she took a step back, satisfied. Meanwhile, Rosie swallowed, pulse kicking up as Luca's stare found her again—steady, unrelenting.

  Still waiting.

  Her throat felt tight. "I'm fine," she kept her voice even, hoping it would satisfy him.

  It didn't.

  Luca didn't blink, didn't move. But she could see it—the way his jaw tightened, the slight crease in his brow. He didn't believe her.

  "What did Clark say?"

  There it was—that sharp, commanding edge. The voice that demanded answers. She preferred him like this, when he treated her like anybody else.

  "I'm right on track," Rosie managed to choke out, though the words barely made a dent in the suffocating silence.

  Luca's gaze remained unwavering, his intense stare peering at every layer of her.

  "Good," he said at last, his tone giving no room for argument. "But you need rest as well."

  Rosie exhaled, shaking her head. "I've rested." It wasn't a lie. Not completely.

  The exhaustion gnawing at her ribs? That was a different matter.

  The nightmares at night? She convinced herself they were not real.

  Briar let out a disbelieving snort. "For like, ten minutes."

  Rosie flinched at the accuracy of that statement, but Briar was already moving on, brightening as if she'd just had the best idea in the world.

  "You should take her to the village on your next visit."

  The words were so unexpected that Rosie actually frowned. What village? Why?

  Luca's reaction was more controlled, but she could tell he was wondering the same thing.

  "Why?"

  Briar lifted a brow, looking at him like he'd missed the obvious.

  "I can't keep dressing her, Luca. She's not a doll. She needs clothes of her own."

  Luca didn't answer right away. His gaze flicked back to Rosie, lingering just long enough for heat to creep up her neck.

  She knew the exact moment he took in her dress for a second time—the faint glint in his eye, the barely-there shift in his expression.

  He did, in fact, like it.

  For a second, he seemed at war with himself. As if he wouldn't exactly mind if Briar kept choosing her outfits. Then, with a sharp press of his lips, he made his decision.

  "I'm going in a few days. You can come."

  Briar clapped her hands together, beaming as if she'd been invited too. "Then it's settled."

  She turned to Rosie with a look that was far too mischievous for comfort, leaning in as if sharing a secret.

  "We're going to have such a blast together, Rosie."

  Rosie had the strangest sensation that she'd just walked into a trap.