Alessandro had been halfway down the hall when Sage called back, the sound of his voice echoing faintly through the steam and tile. He paused, one brow lifting despite himself, mouth quirking before he could stop it.

“Jealous?” he repeated, turning just enough that his voice carried back clearly. “Absolutely. Tragic, really. I’m out here with a stove that bites and a wolf that ignores me, and you’re living like royalty.” But, despite his words, deep down he wanted to take Sage up on his offer.

At the invitation—teasing as it was—he huffed a quiet laugh, low and brief. “Nice try,” he added. “You’d regret that in about thirty seconds when I started lecturing you about water temperature and slipping hazards.”

There was a beat, then his tone softened again, settling into something steadier.

“I will,” he answered easily when Sage asked him to come get him for dinner. “No rush. Take your time.”

He glanced once more toward the bathroom door, making sure everything sounded normal, before finally continuing toward the kitchen. “And Sage?” he called back, almost casually.

“I’m glad you’re comfortable.”

Then he was gone again, footsteps fading as he set about dinner—keeping one ear tuned for the water, the other for the quiet reassurance that, for once, Sage was safe enough to relax.

Sage had just laughed softly when he heard Alessandros comments float down the hallway and through the door. Ah, so he could toss some sass back at him. He felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards when he mentioned lecturing him about the water and such, just shaking his head in amusement as he closed his eyes.

The confirmation that he'd wake him came quickly, as he'd expected it to, so he let himself relax, drifting off into a light sleep after a bit. He really should wash up, but the water was hot and steaming and it felt so nice so....he wound up falling asleep again.

He stirred when a knock sounded at the door... Alessandro's voice sounding from the other side of the wood. Right ....they still had dinner to eat.

"I'll be out in a minute," he called back, shifting to wash quickly and then slide out of the tub, getting died off and dressed while the water drained out of the tub.

The clothes he'd grabbed were a little bit....the shirt was wide around the shoulders, slipping down one side slightly, but they were comfortable enough to sleep in. He did adjust it so it looked like more of a fashion statement. Or...not exactly a fashion statement, but it looked good.

Normally he would have blow dried his hair and put it up for the night, but he didn't think he had the energy or the strength in his arms to do that quite yet, so he just toweled it dry best he could and combed through it. He placed a hair tie around his wrist, but he wanted it to dry so he left it down. He stared at his reflection for a moment, just ..looking at himself. He almost seemed like a whole new person.

He shook his head after a moment and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind his ear when they fell in his face, and opened the door, letting Blitz trot out before sliding out behind him

Alessandro was waiting there, which he'd sort of expected, so he gave him a grin and moved alongside him when he started towards the door. "What's for dinner," he asked curiously, hoping he could stomach a meal by now. That was always 50/50.

Alessandro straightened when the door finally opened, his attention catching first on movement—Blitz trotting out like he owned the hallway, then on Sage himself.

He took him in without meaning to. The oversized shirt slipping loose at one shoulder, damp hair left down instead of pulled back into something sharp and defensive. There was something different about him like this. Not weaker—just unguarded.

Alessandro looked away before the thought could finish forming. Stryker remained by his side, observing both his brother, who was in the bathroom when they both knew they weren't allowed, and then the strange human.

“Good,” Alessandro said evenly. “You didn’t drown. Always a promising start to the evening.”

He turned and started down the hall, letting Sage fall into step beside him without pressing close. Blitz immediately claimed Sage’s other side, brushing against his leg, while Stryker followed a pace behind, still unsure what to make of Sage just yet.

At the question, Alessandro exhaled through his nose, something close to amusement.

“Soup,” he replied. “Light. Broth, bread, rice. You’re not built for anything heavier tonight, and I refuse to have my floors disrespected.”

Then, after a beat, quieter:

“If you decide you’re done after a few bites, that’s fine. No one’s keeping score.”

They moved through the corridor together, the house settling around them—controlled, secure, unmistakably his. Alessandro was used to that feeling. Command. Certainty.

What he wasn’t used to was the faint, unfamiliar tension sitting just under his ribs. Not fear. Not desire, exactly. Just… awareness. A pull of attention he hadn’t consciously chosen. He dismissed it as vigilance. Old habits.

“And,” he added, glancing sideways just long enough to register the way Sage carried himself now, “the shirt works. Looks intentional.”

It wasn’t meant as anything more than an observation. But Stryker’s ears flicked forward, and Blitz’s tail gave a slow, satisfied sweep—as if they’d both heard something Alessandro hadn’t said aloud.

Alessandro moved with practiced efficiency, setting a bowl of broth in front of Sage first, making sure it wasn’t steaming. Bread followed. Rice after that. Simple. Clean.

Then he turned to the wolves.

Two heavy ceramic bowls hit the floor with a solid thunk. Meat, supplemented with rice and something that smelled faintly herbal—what the vet insisted on, and what the wolves tolerated because Alessandro expected it.

“Stryker. Blitz,” he said, voice calm, final.

Stryker stepped forward immediately, lowering his head and eating without hesitation, tail still, posture relaxed but alert.

Blitz did not.

He stood there, muscles tight, eyes flicking between the bowl and Sage. He gave a soft, unsettled huff and moved closer to Sage’s leg instead, pressing against him as if to anchor him in place.

Alessandro’s jaw tightened a fraction.

“Blitz,” he warned, not unkindly. “Eat.”

Blitz glanced at the bowl. Then back at Sage. He sat.

Alessandro folded his arms slowly. Waited. Counted three breaths.

“If you’re not hungry,” he said flatly, “I’ll assume you’re volunteering your portion to Stryker.”

Stryker paused mid-bite, lifting his head just enough to glance sideways—interested, but dignified.

Blitz’s ears snapped forward. His head whipped toward the bowl like it had personally offended him. He shot Stryker a look that could only be described as betrayed outrage, then immediately dropped his head and began eating with determined intensity.

Alessandro turned away before the corner of his mouth could give him away.

He took a seat across from Sage instead, posture relaxed, forearms resting on the table.

Sleep did not come gently for Alessandro.

It never did.

When it took him, it dragged him under fast and without warning—back into the same narrow street, the same rain-slick pavement reflecting orange streetlight like spilled oil. The smell hit first. Cordite. Blood. Cold metal.

His brother was there again.

Luca stood with his back half-turned, coat open, arguing with someone Alessandro couldn’t quite see. Always the same posture—protective, defiant, certain he could talk his way out of anything. Certain the crown would be his soon enough.

Alessandro tried to move. Tried to speak.

He never could.

The shot rang out—too loud, too close—and Luca went down hard, breath tearing from his lungs in a sound Alessandro still heard years later, awake or asleep. Hands reached for him then. Wrong hands. Alessandro surged forward—

—and woke with violence coiled in his body.

He was on his feet before his mind caught up, breath sharp, heart hammering. One hand had already gone to the knife kept beneath his pillow, blade flashing faintly in the low light as instinct screamed threat.

Stryker was there.

But not close.

The wolf stood several feet away, near the doorway, head low, posture non-threatening. He knew better. He always did. One step closer, one wrong movement, and Alessandro would have reacted before recognizing friend from foe.

Stryker didn’t move. Just watched. Guarded.

Alessandro dragged a hand down his face, forcing his breathing to slow, fingers loosening around the hilt of the knife until the tension bled out of them in reluctant increments. The room resolved around him—his house, his walls, the quiet hum of a system that obeyed him.

Not the alley. Not Luca.

“Enough,” he muttered to himself, voice hoarse.

He sheathed the blade, rolled his shoulders once like he was shaking water off, and crossed the room to the window. Rain tapped lightly against the glass outside. Distant traffic. Life continuing, indifferent.

Stryker remained where he was until Alessandro finally sat, back straight, pulse steady again. Only then did the wolf shift—just enough to lie down, still keeping his distance, still watching the door.

Alessandro closed his eyes briefly.

The nightmare lingered, as it always did. A reminder. A warning.

That was why he trusted instinct over comfort. Control over closeness. Why anyone approaching him in the dark risked steel or hands before words.

Eventually, his gaze flicked toward the hallway—toward the room Sage slept in.

He exhaled slowly.

At least one of us is resting, he thought.

And for reasons he did not examine too closely, that mattered more than it should have.

Morning came quietly.

Alessandro had been awake for a while already—showered, dressed, the house moving around him again in its familiar rhythm. The nightmare had left a residue he’d burned off with routine. Coffee untouched. Reports skimmed and set aside. The wolves fed early—Stryker steady as ever, Blitz distracted, eating only after repeated commands and casting looks down the hall that told Alessandro everything he needed to know.

That, more than anything else, was what finally drew him to Sage’s door.

He approached without sound, stopping just short of the threshold. The door was still ajar, exactly as he’d left it. Light filtered in, soft and pale, catching dust motes in the air.

And there—on the bed—was the problem.

Blitz lay curled against Sage’s chest, half on the mattress, half not, his body angled protectively, head tucked beneath Sage’s chin. Sage himself hadn’t moved. His posture was wrong. Too still. Shoulders slack. One arm draped limply over the wolf’s back, fingers tangled but without strength.

Alessandro took it in all at once.

The red-rimmed eyes. The tear tracks dried against skin. The tension still locked into Sage’s jaw even in exhaustion. The way Blitz’s ears flicked the instant Alessandro appeared—but the wolf did not rise. Did not bare teeth. Only watched, anxious, resolute.

Alessandro did not speak.

He stepped into the room slowly, deliberately, hands loose at his sides. No sudden movements. No authority in his posture—just presence. Blitz tracked him the entire time, muscles taut, but didn’t growl. Didn’t retreat.

“That’s enough,” Alessandro said quietly—not to Sage.

Blitz’s ears flattened.

“You broke the rule,” Alessandro continued, tone even. “And you know why it exists.”

The wolf gave a low, uncertain huff but did not move.

Alessandro exhaled once through his nose, then shifted his focus—not missing the way Sage’s breathing hitched faintly, shallow and uneven.

“He didn’t sleep,” Alessandro said, more observation than question.

Blitz’s tail flicked once.

The silence stretched. Then Alessandro made a decision.

“Stay,” he said to Blitz. “For now.”

The wolf relaxed by a fraction, though his eyes never left Alessandro’s face.

Alessandro crossed to the window and drew the curtains just enough to dim the light, turning the room back toward shadow. He adjusted the thermostat down slightly—cooler air helped headaches. Then, carefully, he reached out and set two fingers against Sage’s wrist, checking the pulse with practiced ease.

Too fast. Too shallow.

He straightened.

“You’re not in trouble,” he said quietly, this time to Sage—whether he was awake enough to hear or not. “But this ends today.”

He paused, then added, more firmly:

“You don’t have to be normal. You just have to be alive.”

Blitz shifted closer to Sage’s chest, as if bracing.

Alessandro stepped back, already reaching for his phone.

Breakfast could wait. Rules could wait.

This couldn’t.