Chapter 7 Felix
Chapter seven
Felix
I twirl pasta around my fork without eating. My gaze keeps drifting toward the hallway that leads to her room.
She hasn’t come out since I walked her there, three hours ago.
“She’s fine,” Silas says, not looking up from his plate.
I blink over at him. “I didn't say anything.”
“You don’t have to.” He keeps eating. “You’ve looked toward the hallway seven times in the last ten minutes. She's an adult. She can handle being by herself."
"Plus, you already left food by her door," Liam says from the couch, fork held loose in his fingers.
The storm throws itself against the big windows again. Glass shivers once, then settles. The world outside is still solid white.
"I know, but—" I push my pasta around. "Maybe I should knock again, just to make sure she knows it's there."
"You literally knocked half an hour ago and stated you were leaving a plate." Silas’s fork clinks against ceramic a little too hard. “Now, whether she ate it or not, it's not our problem.”
I look at him. He’s hunched slightly forward, staring at his food like it insulted him.
“What’s your deal?” I ask.
“I don’t have a deal,” he says.
“Uh-huh.”
The silence stretches. Silas eventually drops his fork onto the plate and sits back. “Actually, there's something I find unsettling,” he says suddenly. “She doesn’t smell like anything.”
I blink. “What?”
“The lawyer,” he says. “No scent. At all. It’s… uncanny. Feels like talking to a mannequin."
“She's just on scent blockers,” Liam says quietly. “Or something similar. Makes sense. Corporate omegas use them all the time.”
Silas snorts. "Right. Can't have the big-shot lawyers smelling like anything human. Might make them relatable."
“It’s just standard,” I say. “Even I know that.”
“Well, standard or not, I don't like it.” His gaze flicks to the hallway, then back to his plate. “Makes it impossible to smell out if she actually gives a damn about Lakeview or if this is just another paycheck to her."
“Maybe that's why lawyers in particular use them so much,” Liam says. “To be unreadable, like poker players.”
Silas doesn’t answer. He stabs another bite of pasta instead.
The storm growls again around the chalet. The lights over the kitchen blink once, then hold.
I set my plate on the coffee table and stand. “I’m just going to—”
“No.”
I look at Silas. “What do you mean, no?”
“She obviously needs space. She has space,” he says. “Let it stay that way.”
“What if she needs something?” I ask. “She's trapped in a house with three strangers. And she was freaking out earlier. Maybe she's scared to ask for anything.”
“Lawyer like that? Nah.” Silas sits back further, crossing his arms over his chest. “She wants something, she'll take it. Trust me.”
I drop my fork and it hits the plate with a loud clang. "Dude, what's your problem?"
"I don't have a problem."
"Really? Because you've been acting like—"
"Like what?" He finally looks at me. “Listen, we're giving her a room. Heat. Food. I'm not interested in playing house with some big-city lawyer who's counting the minutes until she can get back to New York and forget this town exists.”
“Firstly, she never said anything like that,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “Secondly, she’s here because Mia begged her to help. Thirdly, she did not ask to be snowed in with us.”
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, “neither did we.”
My shoulders go tight. “So what? Are we just gonna pretend she doesn’t exist until the snow melts?”
"Sounds like a great plan actually," he says. "She's got everything she needs. What else do you want?"
“I don’t know, Silas. Maybe just show basic human kindness?”
He snorts. “Basic human kindness… That's what you're doing, right?"
The jab lands. I feel my jaw clench. “Watch it.”
"Silas. Felix." Liam's voice cuts through. "Enough."
I bite back what I want to say. Pick up my fork. Put it down again.
"Whatever." Silas grabs his plate. "I'm going to bed."
“It’s eight,” I say.
“Storms are exhausting.” He collects his dish, walks to the kitchen, and drops it into the sink with a clatter.
On his way down the toward our hallway, he stops. Doesn’t turn.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Felix,” he says.
I roll my eyes at his back. “Like what?”
“Like whatever you’re thinking about doing.”
His footsteps thud down the hall. His bedroom door opens and shuts a moment later.
Liam clears his throat softly. “He’ll cool off.”
“Will he?” I look at him. “Because that sounded more like a whole mood than a passing weather pattern.”
He presses his lips together. “He’s not entirely wrong though.”
"I can't believe you're taking his side." My jaw ticks.
“I’m not saying ignore her,” he adds. “You’re right, she shouldn’t feel like she’s unwelcome here. But he’s right to worry, too."
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “I just want to make sure she’s eaten and not curled up on the floor having another panic attack.”
“I know,” Liam says, standing up with his plate. “Just… be careful." He gives my shoulder a light squeeze on his way past. “Gonna shower. Night.”
“Night,” I say.
He drops his plate in the sink and disappears down the hall. A moment later, I hear his door click shut.
The living room goes quiet except for the wind outside and the soft crackle from the fireplace.
I sit there for a bit, staring at my half-finished dinner. My appetite’s gone.
Eventually I get up and carry my plate to the kitchen, rinse it half-heartedly, leave it in the sink. On the way back to our hallway, I stop to look at hers.
The thin line of light under her door is still there… and the plate I left earlier is gone.
“Good,” I murmur to myself. “At least you’re eating.”