26. Chapter Twenty-Seven
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EVIE
The problem with creating a useful workspace at an ancient hidden temple was that eventually I started expecting it to behave like an actual workspace.
“Who moved this?” I asked the room as I held up the soft gray shirt I'd found folded on top of the sealed equipment box instead of inside my nest where I'd left it that morning, irritation already tightening my grip around the fabric.
The last of the morning rain still tapped irregularly from leaves into the open courtyard, and damp air moved through the shutters with the smell of wet stone, green vegetation, and the faint remnants of breakfast. I'd only been back inside for a few minutes after making my morning radio check from the outer terrace.
My boots were still dark around the soles, my hair had started curling around my face from the humidity, and apparently my Omega had decided the shirt Luca had moved was a much more urgent problem than any of that.
Luca looked up from the opposite end of the worktable, where he'd been replacing a worn section of webbing on one of my smaller field bags.
He had the buckle braced between both hands, a length of new strap lying beside his forearm, and several small tools arranged neatly near the edge of the table.
His green-gold eyes moved from the shirt to me before briefly checking the sleeping room behind my shoulder.
“I did. It was damp.” Luca admitted as he set the strap down, leaving his fingers beside the buckle while he waited to see whether I was actually upset.
“It was not damp.” I told Luca as I pressed the shirt against my palm and found absolutely no moisture in the fabric, giving him a pointed look while the soft cotton bunched between my fingers.
“It is now dry.” Luca replied as he leaned back slightly in his chair, entirely too calm for someone who had interfered with an Omega's nest before breakfast. “The bottom edge was against the wall last night, and the stone was wet from the rain.”
I narrowed my eyes at him while holding the shirt against my chest. My instincts remained irritated even though the practical part of my brain had already accepted that he probably had a point.
The sleeping room was protected from most of the weather, but the outer wall still held moisture after a hard rain, especially near the floor.
I'd already moved one blanket away from it earlier in the week for the exact same reason.
That did not mean I had to enjoy Luca being right.
“You could've told me.” I reminded Luca as I walked back toward the sleeping room, noticing that he'd moved absolutely nothing else.
“You were already outside making your morning check-in.
I hung it near the courtyard until it dried, folded it, and put it where you'd see it.” Luca explained as he picked up the field bag again, though he kept his attention on me instead of immediately returning to the repair. “I didn't rearrange the nest.”
That was annoyingly reasonable, which made maintaining my irritation much harder.
“Fine, but if you touch Malek's shirt without warning me, we're going to have a problem.” I warned Luca as I crouched beside the nest and returned the gray shirt to the place I'd chosen for it.
“I've learned that one.” Luca replied from the other room, amusement warming his voice before the quiet scrape of the strap against his fingers started again.
I tucked the gray shirt beneath one edge of Luca's blanket, adjusted Malek's charcoal shirt near my pillow, then shifted Tavian's seed and shell farther from the wall where the damp stone couldn't reach them.
Malek's shirt still smelled faintly of cedar, damp earth, and smoke beneath my own scent, while sandalwood and herbs clung more strongly to Luca's blanket after he'd slept beneath it the previous night.
The nest had changed considerably since I'd first built it deliberately.
There were more blankets now, several pieces of my clothing, the old lens cloth I'd apparently decided was sentimental whether I liked it or not, and a collection of small things that would've meant absolutely nothing to anyone else.
My spare hair tie sat on the shelf Luca had cleared weeks ago beside a pencil, a battered field notebook I'd finished filling, and two memory-card cases that no longer needed to travel back and forth because I'd left duplicates at the station.
A soft shirt, sleep shorts, and clean socks lived in the empty drawer now.
The socks were considerably less interesting than scent-heavy Alpha clothing, but after spending half the day in damp boots, they were probably the item I appreciated most.
The drawer still had room, and so did the shelf.
Nobody had filled either one for me, which mattered as much now as it had when I'd first found them empty.
I hadn't moved into the temple. I'd simply stopped pretending every item I brought needed to leave with me again, and the fact that I could keep belongings here without anyone turning that into a decision about my entire future made it easier to add the next one.
Over the remaining weeks, my schedule settled into a combination of station work, field routes, temple overnights, and whatever the animals decided I needed to hear that day.
Some mornings I woke in my room at the station because I'd spent half the previous night backing up files and wanted access to the larger workstation before sunrise.
Other mornings I woke in the nest with Malek's arm across my waist, Tavian's foot somehow pressed against my calf from the opposite side, and Luca already awake because apparently one of us needed to function before coffee.
Mara continued logging my routes and check-ins without caring where I slept inside an approved overnight zone as long as I stayed where I'd told her I would be.
I returned to the station whenever the work required it, and my job had actually become easier once I stopped treating the station and temple like I had to choose between them.
The two places served different parts of the same day now.
At the station, I had the larger monitor, a reliable connection, more room to spread out drives and notes, and Mara close enough to ask when I needed another opinion on a sequence.
At the temple, I could come off a western route without adding another long hike simply to sleep somewhere else.
The moved worktable stayed dry even through heavy rain, Luca's sealed boxes kept my equipment safe from the humidity, and the radio charger worked as long as I used the section where the sanctuary protections interfered least with the signal.
One evening I came back from a stream route with mud drying halfway up both calves and my shoulders aching from the camera bag.
Tavian had been sitting on the edge of the courtyard wall cleaning fruit with a small knife, but he put it down when he saw me and took the heavier bag only after I pushed it toward him.
“You get what you wanted?” Tavian asked me as he carried the bag toward the worktable, the strap looking much less impressive across his broad shoulder than it had felt across mine for the last two hours.
“A capuchin gave me twenty minutes of excellent behavior, which means I probably have three photographs worth keeping.” I answered Tavian as I lowered myself into the chair and stretched one sore shoulder, hearing Luca moving somewhere in the storage room behind me.
“Only three?” Tavian asked me as he set the bag carefully beside my chair instead of opening it, his curiosity genuine rather than mocking.
“Three good photographs from one animal in twenty minutes is a good afternoon.” I explained to Tavian as I pulled the camera onto my lap and brought up the first sequence. “Most of what I shoot never makes it past the first review.”
Tavian crouched beside the chair but kept his hands off the camera.
“So you take hundreds to get a few?” Tavian asked as he studied the tiny images moving across the screen when I scrolled.
“Sometimes thousands.” I told Tavian as I stopped on one frame and enlarged the capuchin's face. “The job isn't only taking the picture. I have to know which one is actually worth keeping afterward.”
Tavian studied the screen for several seconds, his amber eyes following the details I checked instead of pretending he already understood.
“That one?” Tavian asked as he pointed beside the camera rather than touching the display.
“Maybe.” I answered Tavian as I zoomed farther into the eye and checked the focus. “Ask me again after I've stared at it on a real monitor until I hate everything about it.”
“I've noticed that part of the process.” Tavian replied as a small smile appeared, but he didn't turn the conversation into another joke.
He stood when Luca came back with water and food, leaving me space to work while staying close enough that citrus leaves and spice remained easy to pick out beneath the smell of damp equipment.
That was becoming normal too.
So was leaving things behind deliberately.
A few days later, I changed out of a sweat-damp shirt before bed, reached automatically for the spare one in my drawer, and realized I'd replaced the last shirt I'd used there without thinking about it. I had carried a clean one from the station because I knew I'd need another eventually.
I put it inside without the panic or internal argument that would've come with the decision a few weeks ago. It was simply something I wanted available the next time I slept here.