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Recap Chapter 5: Leah wakes up in the woods, realizing she's shifted back to human form and, of course, she's naked. Embry was nearby, and when Leah confronts him, he awkwardly admits that he was "watching over her," not watching her. They banter about it, but there's some tension under the surface. After Leah gets dressed, they head toward the Cullens' house. When they arrive, Leah's mom, Sue, is waiting for her on the porch, clearly angry. She demands to know where Leah was and why she wasn't reachable. Leah tries to explain but feels like a teenager again being scolded. It gets even more awkward when she admits that Embry stayed with her in the woods, and Sue isn't thrilled about the risk. The chapter ends with Leah still processing her mom's concern and the growing, uncomfortable tension between her, Embry, and Sue.

Chapter 6

The Cullen house is clean again. The mess from yesterday gone. And it smells wrong—like antiseptic and polished wood, like something trying too hard to be human but missing the mark.
The sound of voices filters through the house, low and tired. My feet move automatically down the stairs, my mind still tangled in my mother's words from earlier. You need to take care of yourself, too.
Like I don't know that. Like I don't already feel how frayed I am, stretched too thin between everything—between Seth, the pack, the constant pull of duty.
Once I hit the bottom step, I spot my packmates sprawled in the observation room.
Jacob and Jared have claimed most of the new couch, their long legs stretched out, taking up space like they own the place. Jared groans when he sees me and Embry, rubbing his face like he's barely holding himself together.
Seth, though—Seth grins at me weakly through the glass. Pale but upright. Still here.
"Hey, sis. You look like hell."
I exhale slowly. If he's talking, he's stable.
I cross my arms. "Bold words, considering you look like you belong in one of their coffins."
My gaze flicks pointedly to Rosalie, who is already making her way toward us with that glacial expression of hers.
She doesn't rise to the bait. Just steps into the room with her usual controlled grace, already focused on Seth. Her hands move efficiently, checking his vitals, adjusting his IV. It should be reassuring. Instead, it just makes my chest feel tight. Off.
I watch her every move. I need something to focus on, something solid to keep myself from sinking too deep into this restless, uneasy feeling pressing at my ribs. Because it's not just the imprint stuff getting to me—it's everything. It's exhaustion curling under my skin, the weight of too many things shifting too fast.
When Rosalie finishes, she turns to me and Embry and holds up another set of vials. Another blood draw.
I scowl but hold out my arm. Another needle. Another reminder that we're all tangled in this, whether I want to be or not.
Jacob and Jared take that as their cue to leave. A whole shift without their imprints is pushing it. They don't say it outright, but I can see it in the tension in Jacob's shoulders, in the way Jared keeps rubbing his thumb over his palm like a nervous tic. They need to go back. They want to go back.
I'm about to make some snide comment—something about leash laws, probably—but then my stomach betrays me.
A loud, unmistakable growl rumbles from my gut, echoing in the too-quiet room.
I freeze.
Embry, of course, smirks.
It's not even a normal smirk—it's one of those slow, lazy ones, the kind that stretches across his face like he's enjoying this way too much. Like this is just another thing to file away for later, to poke at when I least expect it.
Before I can tell him exactly where he can shove that expression, Esme materializes like the ever-patient saint she is.
"You must be starving," she says, her voice warm, kind in a way that makes my defenses bristle automatically. "Let me get you something."
I almost refuse. Almost.
But I am starving.
I didn't eat enough yesterday, and I came straight here from the forest. My body needs fuel, whether I like it or not.
So I accept.
The food is—fine. It's dense, loaded with calories, but no meal prepared by a leech is ever going to taste right. And it is not just their stench. There's something missing, something just off enough to make every bite feel hollow.
But I eat anyway. So does Embry.
We don't talk. Just sit there, side by side, inhaling calories like the half-starved wolves we are.
And for a moment—just a moment—it's almost easy.
But then the food is gone, and Embry stands, stretching. "I should head back."
I keep my eyes on my empty plate. "See you."
I don't watch him leave.
But the second he's gone, the room feels different.
Not emptier, exactly. Just… different.
Paul and Brady arrive soon after, bickering under their breath as they take over Seth-watch. I linger longer than I should, watching my brother's slow, steady breathing.
He looks small like this. Fragile in a way he never should be.
I exhale. Time to go.
Unfortunately, I need to earn some money.
I push myself to my feet, ignoring the way my limbs protest, the way my mind keeps circling back to Embry.
It's nothing.
Nothing.
Just exhaustion.
Just hunger.
Nothing else.
Right?