Centuries of existence had taught Elias Bckwood the value of patience. He had watched empires rise and fall, witnessed technologies transform from impossible dreams to mundane realities, observed human fashion cycle through the ridiculous to the sublime and back again. Time was different when you had endless supplies of it.

  Yet here he was, pacing the floor of his bedroom in the Council safe house at three in the morning, consumed by doubts that felt shockingly... human.

  The raid on Westfield's boratory was scheduled for tomorrow night. Preparations were complete, teams assembled, and pns reviewed exhaustively. Everything was in order.

  Except, perhaps, his heart.

  The kiss he and Noah had shared several days ago lingered in his memory with startling immediacy. The warmth of the werewolf's lips against his, the gentle pressure of his hand, the way something locked inside Elias for centuries had suddenly, terrifyingly, broken free.

  And therein y the problem.

  Two hundred and thirty-seven years of existence had taught Elias many things, but chief among them was caution. Immortality—or near-immortality—came with unique burdens. He had watched humans he cared for wither and die. Had seen supernatural companions meet violent ends. Had learned, painfully, repeatedly, that attachment led inevitably to loss.

  So he had withdrawn. Decades spent in careful isotion, maintaining cordial but distant retionships, never allowing anyone close enough to matter when they inevitably disappeared.

  Until a housing crisis forced a werewolf into his meticulously ordered life. Until Noah Parker, with his coffee cups and his midnight humming and his infuriating ability to see past Elias's carefully constructed walls.

  A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Elias composed himself immediately, centuries of practice making the transition from vulnerability to control almost instantaneous.

  "Yes?" he called softly.

  The door opened to reveal Noah, looking rumpled and concerned. "You're pacing," he said simply. "I could hear you. Werewolf hearing."

  Elias felt a flicker of embarrassment. "My apologies. I didn't mean to disturb your rest."

  Noah leaned against the doorframe, studying him with those perceptive eyes that always seemed to see too much. "What's wrong, Elias?"

  "Nothing of consequence. Merely reviewing tomorrow's pns."

  Noah's expression made it clear he wasn't buying the deflection. "Try again. And maybe this time without the vampire stoicism?"

  Despite himself, Elias felt his lips curve slightly. Noah had a gift for cutting through his pretenses with disarming directness.

  "May I come in?" Noah asked when Elias remained silent. "Or would you prefer to pace alone?"

  After a moment's hesitation, Elias stepped back, gesturing Noah inside. The werewolf closed the door behind him, then settled on the edge of the bed, waiting expectantly.

  "I'm..." Elias began, then stopped, unused to articuting such personal concerns. "I find myself unsettled by recent developments."

  "Between us, you mean," Noah said, cutting to the heart of the matter.

  Elias nodded, grateful for Noah's directness. "Yes."

  "You regret it?" Noah asked, his casual tone belied by the tension in his shoulders.

  "No," Elias answered immediately, surprising himself with his certainty. "Not regret, exactly. More... concern."

  "About what?"

  Elias resumed his pacing, finding movement easier than stillness for this conversation. "You are very young, Noah."

  Noah raised an eyebrow. "I'm thirty-four. Not exactly a teenager."

  "I was turned at twenty-nine," Elias replied quietly. "That was in 1788. I have lived through the French Revolution, the American Civil War, two World Wars, and countless smaller conflicts. I have seen technologies transform from steam engines to space travel. I have watched entire generations be born, live, and die."

  "I know you're old, Elias," Noah said gently. "That's not news to me."

  "My point," Elias continued, "is that I have experienced... much. While you have experienced... less. By simple virtue of time."

  Understanding dawned in Noah's eyes. "You think I don't know what I'm getting into. With you."

  "How could you?" Elias's voice held centuries of carefully contained loneliness. "I will not age. Will not change. While you..."

  "Will grow old. Eventually die." Noah finished for him. "If I'm lucky enough to have a natural lifespan."

  The blunt acknowledgment of mortality hung between them. Elias stopped pacing, facing Noah directly.

  "We have known each other barely more than a month," he said softly. "A blink, by my standards. Yet I find myself... invested. In ways I have not allowed for a very long time."

  "And that scares you," Noah observed.

  "Yes." The admission cost Elias, but Noah deserved honesty. "I have learned, over centuries, that attachment leads inevitably to loss. The mathematics are simple, if brutal."

  Noah was quiet for a moment, considering. Then he stood, moving to stand before Elias, close enough that their breath mingled but not quite touching.

  "Can I tell you what I think?" he asked.

  Elias nodded, finding himself unable to look away from Noah's warm gaze.

  "I think two hundred years of isotion has made you rusty at retionships. I think you're overthinking this because thinking is safer than feeling. And I think you're trying to protect yourself from pain that might come decades from now by giving up joy that's right in front of you."

  The assessment was so accurate it left Elias momentarily speechless. "Perhaps," he admitted finally. "But it doesn't change the fundamental equation. You will age. I will not."

  "And that's assuming we both survive tomorrow's raid," Noah countered. "Or the next full moon. Or whatever crisis comes after Westfield. None of us are guaranteed time, Elias—not even you."

  "A sobering perspective," Elias acknowledged.

  "Look, I'm not asking for forever promises," Noah said, gentler now. "I'm just asking you not to pull away because you're afraid of what might happen years from now. Can we just... see where this goes? Day by day?"

  The simplicity of the request disarmed Elias's carefully constructed arguments. Day by day. Such a human approach to time—living in the present moment rather than spanning centuries in one's mind.

  "I'm afraid I'm not very good at... this," Elias confessed, gesturing between them. "It has been a very long time since I allowed myself to care this deeply."

  Noah's smile was warm, understanding. "I don't exactly have a great track record either. Kicked out of my pack, living on the fringes of werewolf society, working too much to maintain retionships. We're both a little out of practice."

  "A considerable understatement in my case," Elias murmured dryly.

  Noah ughed, the sound brightening the darkness of Elias's thoughts. Then, slowly, telegraphing his movements, he reached for Elias's hand. The werewolf's skin was warm against his cooler temperature, the contrast somehow perfect.

  "What about Kai?" Elias asked suddenly, thoughts turning to their third housemate.

  Noah's expression grew thoughtful. "What about him?"

  "He's part of this equation somehow," Elias said, trying to articute something he didn't fully understand himself. "Not in the same way, not yet, but... he matters. To both of us."

  "Yeah," Noah agreed, looking relieved that Elias had voiced what he'd been feeling too. "He does. But that's even more complicated. He's still learning to trust us at all, let alone anything deeper."

  "One day at a time," Elias echoed Noah's earlier words.

  "Exactly." Noah squeezed his hand gently. "For all of us."

  The simple touch grounded Elias, pulling him from the endless spiral of centuries back to this moment, this connection. Perhaps Noah was right—perhaps immortality had taught him the wrong lessons, had made him so focused on the inevitable end that he'd forgotten how to value the journey.

  "I cannot promise I won't... struggle with this," Elias warned. "Old habits are deeply ingrained."

  "I'm not asking for perfection," Noah replied. "Just presence. And maybe a little less pacing at three in the morning."

  Elias smiled, a real smile that felt foreign on his features but not unwelcome. "I shall endeavor to pace more quietly, at least."

  Noah's answering grin was bright even in the dimness. "That's a start." His expression sobered slightly. "Tomorrow's going to be dangerous. For all of us."

  "Yes," Elias agreed, thoughts turning to the raid. "Westfield is resourceful, prepared. And if Rose Thorns are involved..."

  "All the more reason not to waste tonight worrying about decades from now," Noah pointed out.

  The logic was impeccable in its simplicity. Elias found himself nodding, allowing Noah to pull him closer.

  "Stay?" Noah asked softly. "Just to sleep. I think we both could use the rest."

  The invitation should have triggered Elias's instinct for distance, for safety. Instead, he found himself nodding, allowing Noah to lead him to the bed. They settled together, Noah's warmth against Elias's coolness creating a perfect bance.

  "Werewolves run hot," Noah expined unnecessarily, wrapping an arm around Elias's waist. "Vampire metabolism is cooler. We fit."

  "An apt metaphor," Elias murmured, surprised by how natural it felt to be held after so many years of isotion.

  As Noah's breathing deepened toward sleep, Elias found his racing thoughts finally quieting. Tomorrow would bring danger, uncertainty. The future beyond that remained a complex equation of immortality and mortality, of time's uneven passage.

  But tonight, in this moment, he allowed himself to simply be. To feel the weight of Noah's arm around him, the steady rhythm of his heart, the sense of connection that had been absent from his existence for longer than he cared to remember.

  One day at a time, Noah had said. Perhaps, after centuries of solitude, that was wisdom enough to begin with.

  Kai couldn't sleep.

  Tomorrow's raid loomed in his mind, memories of his captivity tangling with anxiety about returning to a pce like the one he'd barely escaped. But it wasn't just the mission keeping him awake.

  He'd seen Noah slip into Elias's room hours ago. Hadn't emerged since.

  It shouldn't bother him. Their developing retionship was their business, their choice. He'd known from the beginning that they were gravitating toward each other—had seen the looks, the lingering touches, the silent communications.

  So why did it leave him feeling so... hollow?

  Because you're jealous, an honest part of his mind supplied. Because in the few weeks you've known them, you've started to care. About both of them.

  The realization was uncomfortable but undeniable. Noah with his easy warmth, his protective instincts barely disguised as casual concern. Elias with his quiet dignity, his careful kindness masked by formality. They'd shown him more genuine care in weeks than he'd experienced in years.

  And tomorrow they'd all be walking into danger. For what? A cause? The greater supernatural good? Some abstract concept of justice?

  No. If Kai was honest with himself, he was doing this for them. Because they believed it mattered. Because they had stood up for him at the Council, had defended his right to participate. Because they had looked at him—really looked—and seen someone worth protecting, worth including.

  The enormity of that gift left him breathless sometimes.

  A soft sound from the hall pulled him from his thoughts. Footsteps, nearly silent—vampire quiet. Elias, moving toward the kitchen.

  Kai hesitated only briefly before following. He found the vampire preparing tea, movements precise and elegant even in the middle of the night.

  "Trouble sleeping?" Elias asked without turning, vampire senses having registered Kai's presence immediately.

  "Could ask you the same," Kai replied, leaning against the doorframe. "Thought you were with Noah."

  If Elias was surprised by the direct reference, he didn't show it. "He's sleeping. I didn't wish to disturb him with my restlessness."

  Kai nodded, understanding. Sleep had never come easily to him either—too many years spent alert to danger, too many nightmares waiting when he did succumb.

  "Tea?" Elias offered, holding up a second cup.

  "Sure." Kai moved into the kitchen, accepting the steaming mug with careful hands. "Thanks."

  They sat at the kitchen table, silence stretching between them—not uncomfortable, exactly, but weighted with unspoken thoughts.

  "Are you concerned about tomorrow?" Elias asked finally.

  Kai shrugged, aiming for nonchance. "Been in worse situations."

  "Have you?" Elias's ancient eyes saw too much. "Deliberately walking into the lion's den seems particurly dangerous, even for someone with your survival instincts."

  The gentle challenge broke through Kai's practiced indifference. "Yeah, well. Apparently I've developed a conscience. Inconvenient timing."

  A small smile touched Elias's lips. "Indeed. Those tend to manifest at the most inopportune moments."

  "Speaking from experience?"

  "Extensive experience," Elias confirmed, sipping his tea. "I spent the better part of two centuries avoiding entanglements, commitments, causes. Then a housing crisis forced a werewolf into my carefully ordered existence, and everything... shifted."

  The honesty in his voice caught Kai by surprise. "Noah has that effect. On people."

  "On both of us, it seems," Elias observed mildly.

  Kai tensed, unsure how to respond to the implied understanding. "I don't know what you mean."

  "Don't you?" Elias set down his cup, regarding Kai steadily. "You care for him. That much is evident in how you watch him, respond to him. There's no shame in it. Noah is... uniquely compelling."

  "I barely know him," Kai protested, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

  "Time is retive," Elias said, a trace of irony in his tone. "As someone who has lived for centuries, I find my perception of it differs significantly from others'. Sometimes connections form quickly, defying conventional timelines."

  Kai stared into his tea, struggling with emotions he'd spent years suppressing. "It doesn't matter anyway. You and he are..."

  "Exploring something, yes," Elias finished when Kai trailed off. "Something new and fragile and somewhat terrifying, if I'm honest. Particurly given our respective natures and histories."

  "Vampire and werewolf," Kai murmured. "Natural enemies."

  "As are the elements of your own dual nature," Elias pointed out. "Yet you exist in harmony, both sides integral to who you are."

  The observation struck Kai deeply. He'd spent so long seeing his hybrid nature as a curse, a genetic aberration that made him unwelcome everywhere. The idea that it might be bance rather than conflict was... revolutionary.

  "Noah believes you're distancing yourself because you think there's no pce for you here," Elias said after a moment. "With us."

  The directness of the statement left Kai momentarily speechless. "I—That's not—"

  "Isn't it?" Elias's gaze was gentle but unflinching. "You've spent your life running, Kai. Finding temporary shelter, then leaving before attachment could form. It's a survival strategy I recognize well."

  "Worked so far," Kai said defensively.

  "Has it?" Elias asked quietly. "Has mere survival been enough?"

  The question pierced something deep in Kai's chest—a longing he'd suppressed for so long he'd almost forgotten it existed. For connection. For belonging. For home.

  "What are you saying?" he asked, voice rougher than intended.

  "Simply that whatever happens between Noah and myself doesn't exclude you from our lives," Elias said carefully. "Your pce here isn't contingent on any particur retionship dynamic. It exists because we both care about you, in ways that are still evolving but no less genuine for their newness."

  The words hit Kai like a physical blow—the unambiguous statement of care, the acknowledgment of his importance to them both. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted, echoing his words from days earlier. "Any of this."

  "None of us do," Elias replied with surprising candor. "I've lived over two centuries and still find myself utterly unprepared for the complexities of connection. Noah, for all his warmth, carries wounds from pack rejection that have never fully healed. We are all, in our ways, learning as we go."

  "And if I... feel things. For both of you." The admission cost Kai enormously, vulnerability a luxury he'd rarely permitted himself.

  "Then we navigate that reality with honesty and care," Elias said simply. "Without expectation or pressure. One day at a time."

  The echo of what must have been Noah's words made Kai smile slightly. "He said that to you too, huh?"

  "Indeed." Elias's expression softened with fondness. "Werewolves can be surprisingly insightful beneath all that impulsivity."

  "Don't let him hear you say that. He'll be insufferable."

  "Too te," came Noah's voice from the doorway. "Already am."

  Kai tensed, wondering how much Noah had heard, but the werewolf's sleepy smile held no judgment, only affection as he padded into the kitchen.

  "Midnight tea party without me?" Noah asked, moving to the kettle.

  "Elias was dispensing vampire wisdom," Kai replied, aiming for lightness.

  "Ah, the 'I've lived for centuries so I know everything' routine?" Noah grinned over his shoulder at Elias, who raised an eyebrow in mock offense.

  "I believe I was quite clear about my own limitations," Elias said dryly.

  Noah brought his tea to the table, settling beside them. "Everything okay? Both of you up in the middle of the night before a dangerous mission isn't exactly reassuring."

  "Pre-mission jitters," Kai shrugged.

  "Reasonable concerns," Elias corrected gently.

  Noah looked between them, seeming to sense the deeper currents beneath the surface. "We're going to be okay tomorrow," he said firmly. "All of us. Together."

  The simple certainty in his voice was almost enough to make Kai believe it. Almost.

  "Westfield won't stop," he warned instead. "Even if we destroy this b, even if we rescue any captives. He's obsessed with eradicating supernatural beings. Has been for decades."

  "Then we'll face that challenge when it comes," Elias replied. "But I've lived long enough to know that focused malice rarely outsts collective determination. Especially when that determination is driven by protection rather than hatred."

  Noah nodded in agreement. "What he said, but with less fancy vocabury."

  Despite himself, Kai smiled. The dynamic between them was so natural, so effortless—Elias's ancient dignity complemented by Noah's warm directness.

  And somehow, impossibly, they were offering him a pce within that dynamic. Not as an afterthought or obligation, but as someone valued. Someone who mattered.

  "We should try to rest," Elias said after a companionable silence. "Tomorrow will demand our full faculties."

  They moved together through the darkened house, pausing at the junction of hallways leading to their separate rooms. An awkward moment hung between them—possibilities unspoken, boundaries undefined.

  "See you in the morning," Kai said finally, taking the safer path.

  But as he turned toward his room, Noah's warm hand caught his arm. "Hey," the werewolf said softly. "Whatever happens tomorrow... I'm gd you're with us. Both of you."

  The simple sincerity in his voice wrapped around Kai's heart like a tangible thing. Beside them, Elias nodded in quiet agreement.

  "Yeah," Kai managed, throat tight with unfamiliar emotion. "Me too."

  As he closed his bedroom door behind him, Kai realized the hollow feeling from earlier had subsided, repced by something warmer, more substantial. Not belonging yet, not quite. But perhaps its precursor—the possibility of connection, of pce, of home.

  Tomorrow would bring danger, uncertainty. The future beyond that remained unwritten, undefined.

  But tonight, in this moment, Kai allowed himself to hope. To believe that whatever y ahead, he wouldn't face it alone.

  For someone who had survived through solitary determination for so long, it was a revetion almost too precious to name.