"I… I won't get down unless you carry me."
Hayley's voice broke at the edge of tears, shaky and deliberate, wrapped in distress that felt too carefully shaped to be fully instinctive.
The moment it left her lips, Elliot moved.
Not hesitating.
Not questioning.
Pure Alpha response.
He stepped forward and lifted her into his arms, as if her collapse had already been acknowledged as his responsibility. Her arms immediately looped around his neck, clinging with practiced desperation, pressing herself close to his shoulder in a way that broadcasted intimacy to anyone watching.
Erica stood nearby, phone raised, recording every second. Her presence was not passive—she was documenting the pack narrative as it formed, capturing moments meant to be turned into leverage.
Hayley, still in his arms, trembled lightly as if barely holding herself together. The performance was seamless—fragile breath, faint sobs, softened posture—but her grip on Elliot never weakened.
