Brandon fled toward the house as phantom moth wings beat his skin, reminding him of white lights and leather straps. He crumpled onto the porch steps, curling inward as he clawed at the scent patch on his neck.

I'm the poison.

Tears streamed down his face as he pressed his palm against the patch, wanting to tear it off, wanting to scrub himself clean of the taint. But there was no washing this away.

When you are responsible for destruction...

Brandon huddled on the porch, fingers white around his knees. His shallow breaths came fast as truth crushed him - his pheromones were bottled suffering, weaponized desire. Shame choked his scent.

Bringer of misery and pain.

His shoulders shook with silent sobs as he dug nails into palms. The world tilted, everything he'd believed about himself shattering into something monstrous. He wasn't just broken—he was toxic.

Do you deserve to be loved?

The question echoed through him as he gasped for breath, the weight of this revelation crushing him from the inside out.

No.

Brandon wrapped his arms tightly around himself, shaking with silent sobs as the realization settled into his bones like poison. The truth crushed him with its terrible weight.

I don't deserve to be loved. Not by anyone. Especially not by Zack.

The truth settled like poison in his veins. Every second he stayed was another lie, another chance for Zack to look at him with that devastating tenderness, not knowing he held destruction in his arms.

Brandon scrubbed at his tears with shaking hands. He had to leave. Now. Before Zack discovered that he is a weapon wrapped in pretty lies, a flame that burns everything it touches.

But Mike...

He wasn't recovered yet. Brandon couldn't just abandon him, not after everything he had done to get him out of Regent. He owed Mike that much, at least.

Tonight then. Or dawn. Before the pack wakes. Before Zack's smile breaks what's left of me.

Brandon forced himself up, each muscle screaming in protest. His steps toward the front door felt like betrayal given form, each one taking him further from the only real thing he'd ever known.

Get Mike. Leave. Run.

"Brandon?"

Zack's warm voice halted his steps, body tensing like cornered prey. He turned reluctantly to face him on the bottom step, heart pounding as he steeled himself for the impending interrogation.

"You've been dodging me," Zack's voice was low, pulling Brandon from the swirling vortex of guilt. "Ever since the game."

Brandon lowered his eyes, unable to meet Zack's gaze.

Zack stepped closer, then his brow furrowed. "Hey, what's wrong?" His eyes scanned Brandon's face, catching the tracks of tears, the slight tremble in his hands. Concern replaced the earlier frustration in his voice.

He scrubbed furiously at his cheeks with the back of his hand, trying to erase the evidence. He forced his lips into a semblance of a smile, though it felt brittle, ready to shatter.

“Yeah - no, I’m fine.” The words wobbled. He cleared his throat, trying again. “It’s just… Pete’s story. About the Gala.” He gestured vaguely back toward the fire pit, avoiding Zack’s intense gaze. “It was… a lot. Horrible, what happened to everyone. Especially you.” He ducked his head, feigning embarrassment. “Didn’t want the whole pack seeing me blubbering.”

Zack’s expression softened instantly, melting into a look of profound understanding – or rather, misunderstanding. He didn't see the crushing guilt, the self-loathing coiling in Brandon's gut. He saw vulnerability, a tender heart that felt so much for others pain.

“You know, I kept thinking," He shifted closer, voice gentle. "if I hadn’t gone to that Gala, maybe none of it would’ve happened. Maybe the others wouldn’t have gotten hurt. But Pete keeps saying it’s not my fault. I just… had to survive it, right? That’s what matters. I made it out. Got another chance.”

Survive it.

The words landed like a punch, echoing off the inside of his skull. Zack talked about surviving as if it were something to be proud of, something to celebrate.

He went on, not seeing how Brandon flinched. “Sometimes you don’t get to choose what happens to you. Sometimes all you can do is crawl out the other side and try again. That’s what Pete told me in the hospital—he said recovery’s about letting yourself believe you’re worth saving.”

Worth saving.

The words scraped raw against everything inside him.

“I know I’m lucky." Zack leaned in, voice softening further. "A lot of people didn’t get that chance. Sometimes I feel guilty for it but Pete says I shouldn’t.”

A whimper clawed its way out of Brandon’s throat before he could swallow it down. His hands came up, covering his face, hiding the mess, hiding the ruin.

He shook his head, pressing palms into his eyes until fireworks burst behind his lids.

“S-sorry,” he choked out behind his hands, voice splintering. “I’m so sorry.”

Zack didn’t hesitate. He dropped to the step beside Brandon, arms circling him in one smooth, anchoring motion. Brandon’s body went rigid for a heartbeat, muscles taut as wire, but then something inside him cracked wide open.

Brandon crumpled into Zack, fingers clutching his shirt like a lifeline. His face pressed into warm flannel, muffling sobs. The steady thud of Zack's heart and strong arms around him were all that kept him from shattering.

Zack didn’t flinch at the wetness soaking through his shirt. He just tightened his hold, thumb rubbing slow circles over Brandon’s spine.

“Hey,” Zack whispered into Brandon’s hair, voice so gentle it hurt. “Hey,” he whispered again, thumb still tracing slow patterns on Brandon’s back. “Shh. It’s okay.”

Brandon shook his head, burrowing deeper into the solid warmth of Zack’s chest.

No. Not okay. Never okay.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Zack murmured, his breath stirring Brandon’s hair.

Each kind word was a fresh twist of the knife.

Nothing?

Brandon wanted to laugh, a raw, broken sound. He was sorry for existing. Sorry for being the source of the poison. Sorry for letting Zack hold him like this, letting him offer comfort that Brandon didn't deserve.

Zack shifted slightly, his hold firm but gentle. “If you’re worried about me… I’m flattered, really. But I’m okay. Tougher than I look.” A faint smile touched his voice. “I feel sorry for those that didn’t make it, though. That poor Omega who brought the stuff… and the others.”

Brandon's breathing caught in his throat. He clenched his eyelids closed, as if doing so might block out the sound of the Alpha's words.

Zack’s voice dropped, hushed with remembered horror. “The host of the Gala, Toft… his Omega was killed. Attacked right there - feet from where Hugo had contained me. …He was beautiful.”

Toft’s Omega. Killed.

Killed by Alphas driven mad. Driven mad by his scent. The poison that killed someone. Someone beautiful. Someone loved.

My fault.

Guilt became physical – acid in his gut, ice in his veins. He wasn't just the flame that burned the moth; he was the spark that had ignited an inferno, consuming everything in its path.

He'd known they were collecting his pheromones. Selling them. But this? Death. Chaos. Destruction. The weight of it crushed him.

Zack's hand traced slow circles on his back, steady against the chaos splintering Brandon's thoughts. No demands. No questions. Just acceptance that felt like knives in Brandon's chest. Another lie he was forcing Zack to live.

When Zack eased back, his bright blue eyes had clouded with concern. Brandon tried to pull away, shame burning his cheeks, but Zack's hands caught his face. Rough thumbs brushed away tears, the gentle touch sending tremors through Brandon's frame.

“Hey.” Zack’s voice was low, a soft rumble. “Look at me.”

Brandon forced his gaze upward, meeting Zack’s earnest stare. He saw only worry there, misplaced empathy. Not disgust. Not horror. Not yet.

“Let me show you something.” Zack tilted his head toward the expanse of the lake, shimmering faintly as the sun was setting.

He kept one hand lightly on Brandon’s arm, a warm pressure that felt both like a tether and a chain. Brandon hesitated, his feet rooted to the porch boards. Leaving felt impossible. Staying felt worse.

Zack waited, patient. He didn’t tug, just offered the path.

Brandon gave a shaky, jerky nod, unable to form words past the lump lodged in his throat. Zack’s hand slid down to Brandon’s, fingers lacing through his. The contact sent a jolt, sharp and unexpected, straight to Brandon’s core. Zack tugged gently, leading him off the porch steps and onto the cool grass, guiding him toward the dock.