Chapter 19 #2
"There she is. Our favorite neighbor. You actually came."
"I heard there were cookies. I'm only here for those."
"Rude," he says cheerfully, then leans in, sniffing the air near my shoulder.
His smile falters.
Alex and Malcolm are at the table. Alex is leaning back in his chair, long frame loose, but his eyes sharpen as Finn's expression changes. Malcolm is pouring tea, movements smooth. Both of them look up at once.
Finn sniffs again, brow furrowing.
"Okay. First question: why are you on scent blockers?"
I blink. "I'm not."
He squints. "You'd lie about a lot of things. You would not lie to me about chemistry."
"I'm not using anything. No blockers. No dampeners. Nothing from the registry that isn't mandatory."
Alex pushes off the table and stands, moving closer. He circles me once, not close enough to crowd.
He inhales, slow and deep.
"You barely read omega," he says quietly. "If I hadn’t already scented you, I'd peg you as beta with some history."
Malcolm sets the teapot down harder than necessary. "What happened to your scent? Last time you were here, you were pure honey trying to pretend she wasn't. Now you're—"
He searches for a word, comes up with nothing, shakes his head.
"Now you're quiet," Finn supplies, trying for light and failing. "Too quiet."
I look past them at the kettle. My hands are steady when I shrug.
"Guess I ran out of omega."
It lands badly. All three of them look confused.
Finn opens his mouth. "That's not how—"
I reach for distraction.
"What did I smell like before? To you."
Finn's eyes soften.
"Warm vanilla and wildflowers after rain. Like walking past a bakery on a spring morning with the window open."
Alex nods. "And a hint of cinnamon when you were happy. It got sharper when you laughed."
Malcolm's mouth tilts. "You smelled like someone who'd been shattered and glued herself back together with sugar. Sweet. A little sharp at the edges. Honest."
The words land in my chest like pebbles dropped into a still pond. No splash. Just little rings rippling outward and fading.
I manage a small, crooked smile. "That's dramatic."
"It was accurate," Finn says. "Now you smell like laundry and waiting."
I let that sit, then breathe in the steam from the nearest mug.
"Well. At least I'm clean."
Finn groans. "Don't do that. Don't 'at least' yourself."
I flip the subject before they can dig deeper.
"I'm thinking of talking to Ragon about something. I might ask him to send me back to the registry instead of bonding me in."
All three of them stop moving.
Malcolm sets the sugar jar down very carefully. "You what?"
"I might ask. Or I most probably will, if he doesn't decide on his own. Either way, I'm hoping he'll send me back."
I used to have nightmares about the registry—sterile halls, clinical voices, being handed off like a prescription.
Funny how perspectives shift. Now those white walls seem almost peaceful.
A blank slate. Just no more packs, no more bonds.
I've been transplanted twice already. A third time would kill the roots completely.
Alex sits down opposite me like someone pulled the fire alarm. "Vee. You know what the registry does with omegas, right?"
"I want to apply to live alone. No new pack. Just me."
Finn chokes. "That's not— They don't—" He looks at his alphas. "Tell her."
Malcolm exhales. "The registry almost never allows independent placement for omegas. Physiologically, you're flagged as needing alpha proximity for regulation. Their whole philosophy is about 'safeguarding instinct.' They don't like exceptions."
"Especially not after you've been in a pack this long," Alex adds. "They'd classify you as high-risk for destabilization. With your history? Two packs? They'd be more likely to force-match you again immediately, not less."
My stomach doesn't twist. It should. It doesn't.
"I'll make my case. If they say no, they say no. But I'm tired of being someone's lesson. I'd rather be no one's omega than the wrong pack's."
"They don't see you as no one's anything," Finn says, agitated. He starts pacing. "They see a set of instincts and a file and a liability if you're alone when you crash."
"I'm not crashing. I'm fine."
They all look at my hands.
My fingers are curved around the mug, relaxed. Not trembling. Not twitching. Not reaching out.
"Vee," Alex says quietly. "You're unnaturally fine."
I shrug. "I don't feel much like an omega anymore. I think I could be an exception."
Silence stretches.
Finn's gaze searches my face. "You'll still have heats. You'll still have cycles."
"Do I? Because the last one never came, and nobody noticed."
Their expressions darken—not at me.
"Ragon knows?" Malcolm asks.
"I doubt it. He's busy. Marie keeps everyone informed of what she needs. It's efficient."
Finn swears under his breath. "So your body is burning out by degrees and everyone's too wrapped around her to notice the smoke. Cool. Love that for you."
"It's not their job to notice. Not anymore."
"The hell it isn't," Malcolm mutters.
Alex leans forward. "Vee. Whatever you feel—or don't feel—right now, your nervous system is still wired the way it was. You were built to respond to alpha presence. You can't just decide not to need it."
My lips quirk humorlessly. "Watch me."
"That's not funny," Finn says.
"I'm not joking."
They fall quiet, watching me like I might crack.
I sip my tea, one steady swallow, then another. My hands are calm. No white-knuckled grip. No unconscious lean toward warmth. I am a statue that happens to be breathing.
"This isn't normal," Finn says finally. "You're not supposed to be able to sit between three alphas and a beta and not smell like anything and not do anything. No reaching. No flinching. No nothing."
"It's peaceful."
"It's wrong," Malcolm counters.
Alex's eyes soften. "If the registry sees you like this, they're going to assume you're suppressed. Traumatized. They'll use it to justify interventions, not exceptions. They'll investigate your alphas."
Finn drags a hand through his hair. "Okay, new plan. You are not going to walk back into that house and calmly ask to be made a free agent like you're canceling a subscription. Not without backup."
"I don't need backup."
"You don't think you do. Different."
Alex watches me over steepled fingers. "We can't tell you what to do. But if you go down this path, you need to know what you're walking into. Registry doesn't like messy. They'd rather shove you into a box than admit their systems failed you."
"Maybe I'll fit better in a box. At least it's honest about being a container."
Finn makes a sound like someone stepped on his tail. "I hate that you just said that so calmly."
I lift a shoulder. Let it drop.
Malcolm pushes the cookie plate closer. "Eat. Humor me."
I pick one up because saying no would start an argument. Chocolate and sugar and butter melt on my tongue. It's good.
"See?" Finn says, grasping for normal. "Still capable of joy. We can work with that."
"Don't make me your project."
"You're not a project," Alex says quietly. "You're a person we like."
"And who smells wrong," Malcolm adds. "And talks about leaving her pack like she's discussing the weather."
"And sits there like a beta accountant instead of the omega who practically nested in my pantry the first time she came over," Finn finishes. "Yeah, we're worried."
I take another sip of tea, letting their concern wash around me like water around a stone.
"I appreciate it. Really."
"Then let us help you."
"I don't know if anyone can. But tea helps. Cookies help. This—" I gesture vaguely at the three of them, the warm kitchen. "This helps."
They exchange another look, something silent passing between them.
"Then you come here as much as you want," Alex says. "Registry or no registry. Our door stays open."
Malcolm nods. "And if Ragon doesn't get his shit together and figure out that something's wrong, I'm calling the OPA on his ass."
Finn brightens. "And I'm keying his car. Emotionally, if not literally. I will find a way."
A tiny, reluctant laugh escapes me.
It feels strange, the way my chest remembers how.
I finish my tea with steady hands while three sets of eyes track every movement. I don't lean in. I don't pull away.
For the first time in weeks, the quiet inside me feels a little less like a void and a little more like a field lying fallow.
On the walk back home, the night air is cool. The house looms ahead, full of people who don't know that something in their omega has gone quiet.
Finn's porch light stays on behind me, a small, stubborn star in the dark.