The beeping is the first thing I hear. The sound echoes through the vacant white halls. Was this place abandoned? There wasn't a person in sight. All the rooms were empty; the only sign of life was the scattered little things. A bag lays on the floor of one of the rooms, a teddy bear on one of the beds with stickers littering the wall above, and a baby blue blanket draped over the side of a crib-like structure.

The beeping grows louder, almost as if it's calling me. I force my feet to move down the hall, following the sound, looking to see where it was coming from. The closer I get, the louder it becomes until it finally grows quieter. The beeping no longer being the only sound, but desperate pounding fills the air as well.

My head turns toward the pounding, and I see him. Standing with his fist banging against the room's glass windows, his face twisted into pain and fear as he stared at me. His mouth moves, and I'm able to make the motions out as a call for help.

I quickly race around to the other side of the room where the door is and attempt to yank it open, but the door is locked. I turn my body and slam my shoulder into the door repeatedly.

"I'll get you out!" I promised the man inside. "You're going to be okay."

The man watches me with tears pouring down his face. Finally, the door opens, and I rush into the room. The man quickly races toward me, his arms wrapped around me.

"You're okay," I assured the man. "You're okay now."

"But I'm not," the man said, and everything seemed to change. He lifts his head to meet my eyes, and the tears that once littered his face are gone. His brown eyes stare at me with unfiltered rage, and a crooked smile takes over his look. "I'm not okay; you killed me, Tatum."

"I-"

"Don't deny it! I begged you for help, and what did you do? You locked me in this room and then killed me!"

"The lab hurt you. I didn't mean-"

"No!" The man's head shakes aggressively. "This is your fault! Not Demos, not the lab; your fault, Tatum! If you had only found me sooner, we wouldn't be here!"

"I tried!" I shouted out desperately. "Believe me, I tried! What else could I have done? By the time I found you, you were practically already dead!"

"You didn't try hard enough," those cold brown eyes stared into my green. "You failed me, and now look, you're failing your pack. Look around. Where do you think everyone is?"

My eyes scanned over the empty white halls again. Nobody was in the building besides the two of us.

The man let out a cold laugh, and he lifted his arms to wrap around my neck, pulling me down until our faces were only centimeters apart.

"They're dead," he whispered. "You failed me, and now you're failing them. Some alpha you are."

...

I jolted up, sweat covering my body, and my eyes darted across the room. It was just a nightmare, Tate. Not reality, just a nightmare. It wasn't real. There's nothing to worry about; it wasn't real.

I inhaled shakily, my hand running through my dark hair as I stared out the window. It was nighttime, meaning that practically nobody was awake. The streets were empty, just like the halls-

"Stop, Tate," I shook my head. "It was just a nightmare. Forget about it."

The last thing I wanted to do was to wake Nixon up accidentally. I needed to calm down.

I quietly get up from the bed and stretch my body before opening my bedroom door. I'd get some water and then head to my office. There was no way I was going back to sleep, so I might as well get some work done.

I walk down the stairs and move toward the kitchen. I raised my hand to open the fridge, but I stopped right before doing so. The figure of the man - my mate - plagues my mind. The anger consumed the eyes that I used to often dream about at one point. What I once imagined to be filled with happiness and joy replaced rage and pain. Anger and pain that I...

"No, Tate," I growled out firmly.

Keeping him alive would only hurt him and me in the long run. He would've lived a life of pain or one connected to tubes had I decided to keep him alive. That wouldn't have been the life he wanted.

I grab a cup from the cabinet beside me before filling it with water. Wasting no time, I chug the glass and then refill it. With the glass in hand, I walk back upstairs and try to push my nightmare out of my mind. It meant nothing, so I should forget about it. It didn't affect what happened that day or who I was.

Everything was okay. I was okay.

I had to be.

I stop once up the stairs and take a deep breath to calm myself down. My eyes flutter shut, and I stand there. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Repeat.

When I finally open my eyes, I continue down the hall toward my office, but the sound of tossing causes me to stop. My eyes travel across the hall to where Nixon's door partially opens. I move toward it and peek inside. Dark hair flies around wildly as he twists and turns in every direction. His mouth moves as he mumbles something to himself, but what catches my attention is his facial expressions.

One minute it's a happy expression; a broad smile takes over his face, and his eyes squint. The next, it's an angry expression; his brows furrow together, his jaw clenches, and a low growl escapes his mouth. Then it's a sad expression; he sits there entirely still with his mouth pulled into a thin line. There is no movement; he lies there still as a log.

I pushed the door open more and walked further into the room until I stood before him. Before I could stop myself, I used my hand to brush the strands of hair out of his face, and I stared down at his twisted expression.

It reminded me of when Reo first came to stay with us. Every night he would break out into screams or tears. He would call for people I'd never heard of, and my parents would rush to his room. I remember one night I heard it and beat them to his room. I raised my hand to shake his shoulder, and I tried to wake him up, but Dad stopped me. He told me not to wake him up as much as I wanted to. As bad as he was screaming and crying, waking him up could cause more harmful effects. So I didn't. The nightmares continued for what felt like months, but eventually, they stopped. Finally, he was able to sleep through the night on his own.

So as I stared down at Nixon, as much as I wanted to wake him up, I held back. I didn't know what he was dreaming about, but I didn't want to hurt him in any way. I slowly move to pull my hand back, but Nixon surprises me by grabbing it.

"Nolan...?" His sleepy voice calls out for his brother. He lightly pulls me toward the bed and says, "stay."

I'm not Nolan, which I wanted to say, but I didn't. The deep frown that takes over his face is enough to cause me to stay reluctantly. I lowered myself beside him onto the bed, and I glanced over at him before turning my gaze to the ceiling.

Clearly, I wasn't the only one who had been through shit.