Chapter 28 Dorian #2
The dining hall is packed. Students everywhere, the noise level deafening. We get food and find a table near the windows.
Stephanie and Robbie join us without asking.
I tense slightly—not because they're a threat, but because of what they represent. Witnesses to how fucked up this all is. People who know the truth and are choosing to help anyway.
"How was Movement?" Stephanie asks Vespera, sitting across from her like this is normal. Like we're all friends having lunch.
"Good. Exhausting but good." Vespera smiles at her, genuine and warm. "Professor Cruz is intense."
"He always is first week." Stephanie glances at me, then away. Still nervous around us, but not running. That's progress. "You surviving?"
"So far."
Robbie sets his tray down next to Stephanie's, eyeing me warily but not hostile. "Classes going okay?" he asks Vespera.
"Yeah, actually. People are being... normal. Mostly."
"That's good." He takes a bite of his sandwich, clearly trying to act casual. "We were worried it would be—"
"A disaster?" I offer.
He meets my eyes steadily. "Yeah. That."
"It's only day one," Corvus points out, joining us with his own tray. "Let's not celebrate too early."
But there's no hostility in his voice. Practicality. And when he sits, it's next to Robbie, not across from him. A gesture. Small, but deliberate.
We eat together. The five of us. Talking about classes and professors and the general chaos of first day back. It's weirdly normal. Comfortable in a way I didn't expect.
When lunch ends and we split for afternoon classes, Stephanie hugs Vespera goodbye. I watch them from a distance, resisting every urge to insert myself into her life.
By the time we all reconvene at the pack house that evening, I'm exhausted from the effort of staying away.
"How was your day?" I ask her over dinner—Chinese takeout because none of us have the energy to cook.
"Good." She sounds surprised. "Actually good. People weren't... I don't know. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."
"Told you," Oakley says smugly.
"Don't get cocky. It's one day." But she's smiling.
We clean up together, moving around the kitchen in our strange new rhythm. When we're done, she excuses herself to her room to work on assignments.
The three of us end up in the living room, processing.
"That went better than expected," Corvus says.
"Don't jinx it," I mutter.
"I'm saying, maybe this can actually work. Maybe we can be a normal pack."
"We kidnapped her and held her captive for six weeks," I point out. "There's nothing normal about us."
"So we redefine normal," Oakley says. "Make our own version."
He's got a point. We've already broken every rule. Might as well write new ones.
My phone buzzes. Text from her: Thank you for today. For giving me space. For trying.
I stare at it for a long stretch before responding: Thank you for staying.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Where else would I go?
It's not a declaration of love. It's not even forgiveness. But it's something. A foundation we can maybe build on.
I show the texts to Corvus and Oakley. We sit there in the living room, three Alphas who don't deserve her, reading and rereading those few words like they're scripture.
"One week," Corvus says finally. "We made it one day. Let's see if we can make it a week."
"Then two weeks," Oakley adds.
"Then a semester," I finish.
One day at a time. One class at a time. One stretch of not fucking this up at a time.
The rest of the week follows the same pattern.
We wake up, have breakfast together, drive to campus.
Walk her to the theater building but let her go inside alone.
Suffer through classes apart. Reconvene for lunch sometimes.
Go to separate afternoon classes. Come home.
Eat dinner. Exist in the same space without destroying each other.
It's shockingly mundane. Domestic in a way I never expected.
By Friday, it almost feels normal.
We're in the living room after dinner—she's on the couch reading for her Theater History class, Oakley's doing homework at the dining table, Corvus is on his tablet doing god knows what, and I'm existing. Watching her read. Memorizing the way her nose scrunches when she's concentrating.
"You're staring," she says without looking up.
"I'm observing."
"Same thing."
"Not quite."
She finally looks at me, one eyebrow raised. "What are you observing?"
"That you're happy." The words come out before I can stop them. "You look happy."
Her expression softens. "I am. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"There's still Ben," she says quietly. "Monday."
Right. Monday.
I watch her go back to her reading, and something in my chest tightens. We made it one week. A whole week of peace and almost-normal.
"You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" she asks without looking up.
"Define stupid."
"Dorian."
"I'll be civil," I promise.
"That's all I ask."
She turns a page. The lamplight catches in her hair. Corvus says something to Oakley about their shared assignment. Ordinary. Domestic.
One week down.
Let's see if we can make it two.