Chapter 22
The voices pull me like a string.
Low at first, a rumble behind closed doors. The kind of tone alphas use when they're trying to be civilized about something that wants teeth.
Ragon's office door is mostly shut, a slice of light cutting across the hallway carpet. I'm halfway past with the laundry basket when Eli's voice spikes sharp enough to catch on my ribs. I catch my name: "—not normal, Ragon. It isn't."
I stop. The basket tilts against my hip.
Nosy, my brain whispers.
It's about you, another part replies.
I set the basket down as quietly as I can and tiptoe closer, socks muting my steps. The wood is warm when I press my shoulder to the wall beside the doorframe. I angle my head just enough to catch the voices without letting anyone see my shadow.
"...acting like she's fine," Drake is saying, softer. "But she's not Vee."
My name in his mouth feels distant. Abstract.
Eli again, sharper. "I opened her door this morning to check on her and the bed is still stripped to the bare minimum. No extra blankets. No nest. She's sleeping in the chair. Do you understand how messed up things have to be for her to choose a chair over rebuilding a nest?"
"Maybe she likes it," Ragon answers, stubborn and tired. "Maybe it feels safer to her right now."
"That's the problem," Eli snaps. "That a nest doesn't."
I shouldn't want to hear this. I should walk away. My feet stay welded to the floor.
A whisper of movement behind me makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I glance over my shoulder.
Marie stands at the other end of the hall, bare feet, leggings, one of Drake's t-shirts hanging off one shoulder. Her hair's up in a messy knot.
Her eyes widen when she sees me by the door. For a second I expect her to flounce inside and announce that I was snooping.
Instead, she pads closer on silent feet, lips already parted for a question.
I put a finger to my mouth without thinking. Her brows shoot up.
Eli's voice rises again; Ragon answers low. Marie's gaze flicks to the crack of light, then back to me. Something sharp and curious flashes through her scent.
Then, slowly, she mirrors me—finger to her lips, mouth pressing shut.
We stand side by side in the hallway like feral children hiding from the adults, listening to them talk about us.
If I weren't half-dead inside, I'd probably choke on the irony.
Inside the office, Jasper speaks for the first time. His voice is calm enough to be surgical.
"This isn't just about sleep surfaces. Her scent is nearly gone.
That isn't hygiene. That's suppression. Flattening.
She doesn't reach for you. Any of you. Nor me, not that she ever has.
Nor even the neighbors who've never betrayed her.
She calls you 'Alpha' like a stranger. She's compliant because that's the safest option, not because she trusts you. "
Ragon's chair creaks.
"I had to do something," he growls. "She almost killed Marie."
Beside me, Marie stiffens. Her fingers curl into the hem of her shirt.
"We don't even know that," Drake says. "We haven't checked the footage."
"She said Vee was behind her and then she was falling," Ragon says. "You didn't see it from where you were."
"No. I saw Vee screaming and trying to climb the railing after. That's what I saw."
"And she's been spiraling since before the zoo," Eli adds. "This didn't come out of nowhere. You've been pushing her harder and harder for months."
Ragon's scent spikes even through the crack in the door.
"So I should have done nothing? Let her keep lashing out? Let that jealousy fester until she really did shove someone into traffic, or down a set of stairs, or—"
"What you did wasn't correction," Eli cuts in, voice like a blade. "You weaponized her nest. You took the safest place in her world, dragged her deepest fear into it, and then banned all comfort after. That's not discipline, Ragon. That's cruelty."
The word hangs in the air like a slapped handprint.
In the hallway, Marie sucks in a tiny breath.
Inside, Ragon's silence is worse than shouting.
When he speaks, it's low and furious. "Watch your tone."
"No. I'm done softening this for you. I have treated trauma cases who were less shut-down than she is right now.
She's starving herself of touch. She won't sleep properly.
She was spraying scent neutralizer like it's armor, and now she doesn't have anything left to neutralize.
We are well past 'she's being dramatic'. "
Drake makes a strangled sound. "She hasn't baked for us in weeks. Not once. She still bakes for the neighbors. For Finn."
I frown.
Marie's head snaps toward me. For a second our eyes lock. Hers flash with something—hurt, maybe, or offense—that she doesn't voice.
Jasper clears his throat. "We need help. Outside help. Someone who knows how to handle this. I know a specialist who consults for the OPA. He works with registry omegas all the time. Forced bonding, nest violations, overstimulation, the works. If anyone can tell us how bad this is, it's Arden."
"Absolutely not," Ragon says instantly. "We're not dragging the Office into our home."
"We already dragged them in when you used their textbooks as justification for punitive conditioning. You don't get to cite 'pack structure' and 'omega correction' and then balk when the experts show up."
"She is mine. Our pack, our omega. I will not have some bureaucrat alpha come into my home and—"
"Tell you that what you did was over the line?" Eli says. "Maybe that's exactly what's needed."
"Eli," Drake murmurs, trying to soothe. "Ease up, man."
"Don't ask me to sugarcoat this. I'm the one who found her curled up in a chair with a blanket like a hostel guest, staring at the empty space where her nest used to be. You didn't see her face, Ragon. She looked gone."
A knot forms between my ribs, tight and hot.
"They still check in on packs with unbonded omegas," Jasper goes on.
"The OPA. Randomly. You know that. It doesn’t happen often, but it could happen.
Especially since a report has been filed.
Do you want this to come out in a surprise home visit?
Or do you want to get in front of it and say, 'We made a mistake and we're taking steps to fix it'? "
Ragon exhales, harsh. "I did what I had to do. I will not apologize for protecting Marie."
Marie recoils, her shoulders hunching as if the words had physically grazed her skin.
Beside me, her hand lifts—just for a second, like she might knock and interrupt.
She lowers it again. Puts her finger back to her lips. Her scent coils in the narrow hallway, restless.
"You can protect Marie without destroying Vee," Eli says quietly. "Those things are not mutually exclusive."
"I didn't destroy her. She's still here."
"Is she?" Jasper asks. "Because from where I'm standing, what we've got is an omega-shaped husk who says 'Yes, Alpha' and stays out of your way so thoroughly she might as well be a ghost."
The word ghost lands uncomfortably accurate.
Drake swears under his breath. "Look, I messed up too. At the zoo. With the nest. I made choices I regret." The regret coats his scent thick, bitter. "But she doesn't even... she doesn't look at me like I'm me anymore. I can't fix something I'm not allowed to touch."
"So let someone who can, try," Jasper says. "Arden Hale owes me three favors and a bottle of nineteen-year-old scotch. Let him earn off at least one."
"We're not a charity case," Ragon mutters.
"We are," Eli says, flat. "She is. We just don't want to admit it."
There's a long silence.
Finally: "Fine. Bring him. A consult. That's it."
Jasper hums. "I'll set it up."
"He doesn't get to make decisions for my pack."
"No. But he can tell you whether the choices you've already made are sustainable. Or salvageable."
My head buzzes.
Specialists. OPA. Salvageable.
I've heard enough.
I ease back from the wall, heart thudding dully. Marie does too, mirroring me without taking her eyes off the door.
"They're talking about you," she whispers.
"No. They're talking about a version of me they thought they had."
Her mouth twists. "He's just trying to—"
"I don't care what he's trying to do. I'm tired of being a project. Why can’t they just leave me alone?"
We stare at each other. For one second there's something like understanding between us—two women orbiting the same black hole.
Then her chin tips up, defensiveness sliding back. "You really scared him at the zoo. He's not going to let that go."
"I didn't push you." The words are flat now. Worn.
"I know what I felt. But..." Her eyes flick toward the office. "Maybe he went too far with the nest. I think it would have broken me too."
The understatement is almost funny.
"Maybe."
I step around her carefully, pick up the laundry basket, and walk away before the conversation can turn into anything else.
In my room, the chair waits. The bed is a blank slab in the corner.
I sink into the chair, dragging the thin green throw over my knees. Outside, Finn's silhouette moves around his kitchen window. Somewhere in their house, someone laughs.
"Help," I mutter to the empty air. "They want to help."
The thought makes my skin crawl.
What I want is to be left alone long enough to figure out what parts of me are mine.
I tuck my feet under me and stare at the dark glass until my eyes sting.
***
The specialist arrives two days later.
I know because the whole house changes shape around him.
I'm in the kitchen, rinsing coffee cups, when a new scent threads through the air—warm amber, cedar, something clean underneath. Alpha, definitely, but not a blunt impact. More like a steady heat.
There's murmuring at the front door. Ragon's low rumble. Jasper's dry welcome. Marie's curiosity. Drake's uneasy humor. Eli's careful politeness.
I consider retreating. Instead I put the cups upside down in the rack, wipe my hands, and stand there until the voices move toward the living room.
"Vee?" Eli calls gently. "Can you come in here a minute?"
I inhale once, slow. Exhale.