10:45 PM.

The house is finally quiet.

A few hours ago, the basement had been chaos. Music, laughter, shouting, and the pack scattered around the pool table. Everyone had gotten drunk except her and me. She’d eventually gone upstairs, tired of the noise.

Now she’s asleep. I know because I’m standing inside her bedroom. The cracked window lets a warm summer breeze through.

Her curtains move gently, and moonlight spills across the floor. Her AC is still broken.

I told her I’d fix it.

I never did.

I climb through the window without making a sound.

Then I see her. Curled beneath the blankets. Completely asleep. I stare. Just for a second. That’s what I tell myself. I know I shouldn’t be here.

If Sam found out, he’d lose his mind. Embry would never let me hear the end of it, and Quil would ask a million questions. I look around her room instead. Her phone sits beside the bed. A glass of water rests on the nightstand. Her clothes are tossed over a chair. Then I see her hoodie. The same hoodie I stole weeks ago and jerked off to ever since.

She never noticed.

I should feel guilty.

Instead, I feel something twist in my chest. I move farther into the room. The floorboards don’t make a sound beneath my feet. My eyes return to her, slow breathing, messy hair, completely peaceful.

For some reason, everything outside this room feels impossibly far away.

No pack.

No arguments.

No one telling me what to do.

Just silence.

And her.

I take another step, then stop. Don’t get too close.

That’s one of my rules. I’ve made a lot of them. Never stare when she’s awake. Never let her notice how often I know where she is. Never let the pack realize how much attention I pay to her.

I remember everything about her.

Her favorite drink. The songs she hums. The way she rubs her eyes when she’s tired. The way she gets quiet when something bothers her. Things she probably doesn’t even remember telling me.

I remember all of them. I always remember.

Maybe I should leave. That’s what a normal person would do. I turn toward the window. Then the mattress shifts. I freeze. For a moment, I don’t breathe. She’s moved beneath the blankets. Still asleep. Probably. I watch her for another moment before slowly exhaling.

Jesus… I whisper to myself. I drag a hand over my face and shake my head. You’re gonna be the death of me… I glance toward the window. I should leave. I know I should. But my hand never reaches for it. Not yet. I remain standing in the darkness, listening to the quiet sound of her breathing.