Chapter 20
By the time I walk back across the yard, the air has cooled enough to sting my cheeks. The grass is damp under my bare feet. Finn's kitchen light glows warm behind me; our house looks dimmer by comparison. Less like home. More like a building I sleep in.
My fingertips still smell faintly like chocolate and sugar.
My clothes smell like their home—pine and clover and ginger-warm—layered over the usual mix of smoke and vanilla I carry from my own.
What I can make of their scents sit differently in my lungs.
Softer. Less demanding. They don't pull at me; they just exist alongside me.
Our back porch light flickers once, then steadies.
Inside, the house tastes like a held breath.
I close the door quietly. From here, I can see the back of the couch, the side of Ragon's chair, the glint of Eli's glasses. Marie's voice drifts faint and sweet. Drake laughs a little too loud. Jasper says nothing.
I smooth my hands down my jeans and move toward the living room.
Ragon looks up first. He always does. His eyes skim my posture, my face—neutral, not hunched, not braced. His nostrils flare, searching for distress.
He doesn't find it.
"Verena. You're back on time."
"I said I would be. Nine o'clock."
"We weren't worried," Marie trills, tucked against Drake like a cat in a stolen lap. "You were just next door."
Ragon's gaze slants toward her. That's a lie. He hates not knowing. His scent is tight in the room. Eli watches my face like I'm a test result he's afraid to read. Drake shifts, uneasy.
"How was it?" Eli asks. "Tea? Conversation?"
"Pleasant."
"You were gone a while," Drake says.
I think of Finn's kitchen, of Alex's frown when he sniffed the air around me, of Malcolm's alarm when I mentioned the registry.
"It was nice."
"Did they say anything about us?" Marie asks, brightness knife-edged. "About our house? About me?"
I shrug. "They said they enjoy having us all as neighbors. Even you, Marie."
Her shoulders drop, tension easing. It lasts two seconds before her gaze sharpens again.
Ragon clears his throat. "I wanted to talk to you. Alone."
The old me would've gone rigid. Now there's just a gentle, distant curiosity.
"Of course. Study?"
He nods.
I cross the room, taking the long way: wide around his chair, further from his scent, careful not to brush Marie or Drake. Eli's hand jerks like he wants to reach out. Jasper's gaze tracks me.
I don't look at any of them for more than a heartbeat.
The air in his study is cooler, like he keeps the window cracked.
He shuts the door behind us with a soft click.
"Sit," he says, then seems to think better of it, gestures vaguely at the chair. "If you want."
I stay standing. It lets me keep my spine straight, hands folded.
He watches that. The neutrality. The distance.
"You were eager to go to their house."
"It's next door. Finn invited me. You gave permission."
His mouth presses into a line. "How was it? Really."
"Kind. They were kind."
"And?"
"And what?"
He shifts in his chair. "You're composed."
"You said you wanted that."
He exhales. "I wanted you stable. Grounded. Not—" His hand moves. "Not like you were."
Jealous, clingy, desperate, territorial.
"I understand."
He leans back, expression softening. "You've handled the last two weeks very well. Better than I expected. You've been respectful. Helpful. Cooperative. No more lashing out at Marie. No more tantrums."
Two weeks ago, that list would have knifed me. Now it lands like someone describing a stranger.
"Thank you."
"I think it's time to lift your ban."
I blink. "All right."
"That's all? No questions? No feelings about it?"
"I appreciate knowing the parameters. I'll adjust accordingly."
He studies me, confusion threading behind his eyes. "You don't have to avoid us anymore. You know that, right? You can take your place again."
My place.
At the table. At their feet. In their bed.
"I'll keep that in mind."
He hesitates. "If I reach for you, you don't have to move away."
"I haven't."
He falters, then huffs an almost-laugh, frustrated. "You've been careful. Distant. Somewhere else in your head. I'm not accustomed to that from you."
"You wanted less need. You have it."
He doesn't like the answer, but he can't deny it.
"To be clear—I am lifting your ban. From all the alphas. They're allowed to touch you again. Nest with you. We'll adjust the rotation back to something fair."
Fair.
The word floats between us like a joke no one wants to claim.
"Is there anything you'd like to say?"
"Yes. Thank you for considering my request about outside activities."
His brows lift. "Your club idea?"
"You said you'd think about it. Something in the evenings. To be out of everyone's way."
He nods slowly. "I haven't forgotten. I'm looking into options. It has to be appropriate for your designation and registered safety protocols."
A corner of my mouth lifts. "I don't like boxing."
"You like plants. And baking. And books."
"You could just say 'clubs that are harmless.'"
"I could. I won't. But I'll see what's available."
I incline my head. "All right."
He watches me look at the surface of his desk.
For a heartbeat, his expression slips. Regret. Something like grief. Then his features settle back into neutral authority.
"Anything else?"
He swallows. "No. That's all."
I straighten. "Thank you, Alpha."
He flinches at the title like it's too sharp. "Verena—"
"Yes, Alpha?"
He deflates. "You can go."
I turn, open the door, and close it gently behind me.
The photo stays on his desk.
I don't go straight to my room.
Some restless speck of curiosity pushes me down the hall toward the murmur of voices.
In the living room, Drake is half-sprawled on the couch. Marie's head is in his lap, feet tucked across Eli's thighs. Eli stiffens as I enter. Jasper occupies the armchair nearest the hallway, book open on his knee, gaze nowhere near the page.
Every alpha lifts their head when I step through.
"Vee," Drake says, sitting up. "How was the neighbor hang? Really?"
"Fine. They're kind people."
Drake studies me with worry in his scent. "You okay? Really okay, not just 'I can still stand upright' okay."
"I'm functional. I ate dinner. I walked to the neighbors'. I came back. Everything else is supplemental."
"That's not what okay means, babe."
I don't correct the term. I don't lean into it either. It hangs between us, untethered.
"Ragon lifted your ban," Eli says, needing something. "You know that, right? We're allowed to— If you want—"
"I'm aware. He told me."
Jasper's gaze sharpens faintly.
Drake half-rises, reaching out; Marie immediately tightens her grip on his wrist.
"She's fine," Marie says. "Look at her. Calm. Quiet. Less likely to kill me. Isn't this what we wanted?"
Drake's mouth twists. Eli stares at me over Marie's feet.
"I'm going to bed."
"It's not that late," Drake protests.
"I'm tired."
Ragon emerges from the hallway then. He takes in the scene—the way the others are looking at me, the careful distance. "The ban is over. Normal routines resume. Within reason."
Drake's expression brightens with hope. Eli's breath catches. Marie's face pinches, but she hides it quickly. Jasper says nothing.
Ragon takes a breath, like he might add something else, but the words never land.
I turn and walk toward my room.
No one stops me.
No one orders me back.
No one says my name.
***
A few days later, I keep practicing: I become a moving gap.
I set coffee on, slide plates to places, and orbit the table at a calm distance. When Eli reaches toward my waist as I pass behind his chair, I step neatly out of range, murmur excuse me, and keep going. The motion is smooth enough to look like choreography rather than rejection.
Drake leans in when I bring the fruit—cheek tilted for a kiss the way he's leaned into me for a hundred breakfasts. I redirect by setting the bowl down with both hands and asking if he wants more strawberries. He blinks, recalibrates. "Uh. Sure."
Ragon's gaze hooks on every pivot. His scent runs tight but he doesn't say anything.
I eat standing up at the counter. The food sits. I don't need anyone's scent to push it down.
Between loads of laundry I make my own tea.
I do stretches on my bedroom floor and count my breaths—inhale four, hold two, exhale six—until my lungs stop trying to convince my heart I should be curling into someone.
When my brain loops toward Eli's lap or Ragon's chair, I make my own nest on the rug with a folded throw and lie there until it passes.
It always does now.
I think, so this is what betas feel like—quiet inside, no tide dragging you by the spine.
Jasper crosses paths with me around noon, tablet under his arm. "Can I borrow that?"
He glances at it, then at me. "For how long?"
"An hour. Less if I get bored."
He hands it over. "Password is the same as last week." Then, after a beat, "If you're shopping for registries, aim for incognito."
"I'm shopping for hobbies. Not homes."
A fractional nod. He melts away.
I sit at the kitchen table and open a dozen tabs.
Gardening club, cooking meet-ups, a beekeeping course.
An hour later, I find it: a fitness dance class at Pulse Gym, five miles away—"CardioGroove.
" Beginner-friendly, high-energy, no partner required.
The pictures look like joy. Bodies in motion, hair flying, someone laughing mid-spin.
My chest does a small, startled lift.
I go find Ragon.
He's in the study again. I knock once and step inside when he says my name.
"You have a minute?"
"For you, yes."