Chapter 46: Chapter Forty Four.

I hang up with Morgan feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time. Lighter because she’s looking into it—someone outside this house is taking action. Heavier because it changes nothing right now.

I flex my fingers, my nails still tacky as I sit up, glancing toward the door. The house is eerily quiet, save for the occasional muffled sound of Elias or Theo speaking in low, clipped tones from the lounge. It’s been like this for days—hushed voices, tension so thick it clings to the air like humidity before a storm.

Callum still hasn’t come out of his room.

The thought sits uneasily in my chest, so I stand, shaking out my hands as I pad down the hall. The door to Callum’s room is slightly ajar, and when I peek inside, my stomach twists.

He’s curled up on his bed, fully clothed, staring blankly at the wall.

My throat tightens.

I step inside, quiet but purposeful. “Hey,” I say softly.

No response.

I move closer, perching on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink, just keeps staring at the wall like it holds all the answers.

“Callum,” I try again, reaching out carefully, touching his hand. His fingers twitch under mine, but he doesn’t pull away.

I exhale, steady and slow. “You’re scaring me.”

That gets a reaction. A slight blink. A subtle shift of his body, like he’s just now realizing I’m here.

His voice, when he speaks, is barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”

I swallow against the lump in my throat. “You’re not.”

He exhales shakily, his fingers finally moving, curling around mine. It’s such a small thing, but it’s something.

I tighten my grip. “You haven’t been outside. You haven’t even touched your garden.” I keep my voice gentle, but I don’t let up. “I know you’re hurting. But you’re not alone, Callum. We’re right here.”

A tear slips down his cheek before he can stop it. He swipes at it quickly, like if he just gets rid of the evidence, I won’t notice how close he is to breaking.

But I notice.

I shift, lying down beside him, keeping my hold on his hand. I don’t say anything else, just let my presence do the talking.

And after a long, aching moment, Callum turns toward me, tucking his face into my shoulder. A silent surrender.

I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight.

Callum’s body is stiff against mine, his breaths shallow and uneven. I can feel the tension in him, the way he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur, rubbing slow circles on his back. “You’re safe.”

But he doesn’t relax. If anything, he gets worse.

His breathing sharpens, going ragged at the edges. His fingers clench into the fabric of his hoodie, his whole body locking up.

Then—he flinches.

Not just a little twitch, but a full-body recoil, like he’s expecting a hit.

My stomach drops.

“Callum?” I keep my voice soft, careful.

His chest is rising and falling too fast. He’s not looking at me—his eyes are glassy, unfocused, like he’s seeing something else.

Something from before.

I know that look.

I shift, keeping my movements slow, staying close without touching him. “You’re home,” I say gently. “You’re safe. Can you hear me?”

A blink. A sharp inhale. But he doesn’t answer.

Fuck.

I need to bring him back.

I reach for his hand, careful, keeping my voice low and steady. “Okay, love, we’re going to breathe together. In for four, hold for four, out for four.” I demonstrate first. “Can you try with me?”

For a moment, I don’t think he will.

Then, slowly, he tries.

His breathing is still shaky, but he follows my lead, dragging in a breath and letting it out in uneven bursts.

I squeeze his hand. “That’s it. Keep going.”

Another breath. Another. His muscles are still tight, but his gaze focuses—just a little.

“Ivy?” His voice is hoarse, uncertain.

I nod quickly. “Yeah, love. I’m here.”

His grip on my hand tightens, but there’s something else in his eyes now—fear. Not just from what happened a few nights ago. This is older. Deeper.

His lips part, but he hesitates, like he’s debating whether to say it at all.

I squeeze his fingers. “You don’t have to talk. But I’m listening.”

A shaky exhale. Then, so quietly I almost miss it—

“I know this feeling.” His throat bobs. “It’s—it’s not just the attack.” He swallows hard. “It’s from before.”

My heart aches for him.

“Before?” I prompt gently.

His whole body tenses. “When I was a kid.”

I don’t push. I just wait.

After a long, heavy silence, he whispers, “I thought I was past it.”

Oh, Callum.

I shift closer, brushing my knuckles lightly against his. “Memories like that… they don’t just disappear. And sometimes, when something bad happens, they come back—louder.”

His fingers tremble in mine.

I don’t ask what it was. Not yet.

Instead, I press my forehead against his, scenting him softly, grounding him in now.

“I promise,” I murmur, “you don’t have to go through this alone.”

He exhales, unsteady.

And this time, when I hold him, he lets me.

~~~~

The house feels heavier than usual, weighed down by everything unsaid. The scents of simmering herbs and garlic fill the air—not from my cooking, obviously, but from Micah, who took over when I nearly set the rice on fire. Again.

Callum is still curled up in his room. Normally, he’d be the one here, chopping vegetables, fussing over spices, making sure everything was just right. Cooking is his comfort, his way of caring. But today, he didn’t even look at the kitchen.

That alone tells me just how bad this is.

Behind me, Theo and Elias sit around the dining table, talking in low voices. Micah stirs the soup absently, his laptop open beside him, though he isn’t really working. Elias has his arms crossed, brows furrowed, while Theo rubs his jaw, deep in thought.

They’re worried. We all are.

I grip the edge of the counter and take a deep breath. “What happened to Callum?”

Three sets of eyes snap to me.

Micah is the first to react, his expression tightening. “Ivy—”

“I mean before the attack,” I press. “He told me this isn’t just about what happened the other day. It’s from before.” I glance between them. “And I think you all know what he’s talking about.”

Theo’s jaw clenches.

Elias exhales through his nose, looking away.

Micah fidgets, chewing the inside of his cheek.

None of them speak.

Frustration bubbles up in my chest. “I want to help him,” I say, softer this time. “But I can’t if I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Still, silence.

I cross my arms. “Seriously? No one’s going to tell me?”

Theo shifts, looking at Elias. Not for permission—more like an unspoken conversation.

Elias just shakes his head. “It’s not ours to tell.”

I resist the urge to groan. “But if it’s affecting him now, don’t you think I should at least know?”

Micah sighs, running a hand through his curls. “Ivy, if he wanted you to know, he’d tell you.”

That stings. Because I know they’re right.

But it doesn’t make me feel any less helpless.

I glance toward Callum’s closed door. “He thinks something’s wrong with him.” My voice is quiet. “That’s what he told me.”

For a moment, no one says anything.

Then, Theo speaks, his voice quieter than usual. “There’s nothing wrong with him.” I can feel his anguish through the bond.

I glance back at them. Theo is staring at the table, his fingers drumming against the wood. Elias has his eyes closed, his shoulders tight.

Micah just looks… sad.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Then why won’t anyone tell me what did happen?”

Elias finally meets my gaze, and there’s something raw in his expression. “Because it’s his past. His choice. Not ours.”

And that’s the end of it.

I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to nod.

I don’t like it. But I understand.

Still, as I turn back to the counter, the heavy silence lingers.

And I can’t shake the feeling that whatever happened to Callum back then…

It’s not just coming back.

It’s never left.