Chapter 4
Wells
Iappreciate order, organization, and directness.
There's a certain satisfaction in organizing chaos into neat, comprehensible patterns.
Numbers follow rules. Schedules eliminate uncertainty.
But people? Well, people can be messier, but even they usually follow predictable paths when given the right incentives.
Which is why our new roommate is already setting off warning bells in my head.
I stand in the doorway of the spare room—Rowan's room now—watching as she unpacks a small collection of books onto the shelf. Her movements are precise, almost defensive, like she's creating a barrier between herself and the rest of the house one paperback at a time.
"Do you need anything for the closet?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral, professional. "Extra hangers or storage bins?"
She startles slightly, turning with a book still in hand. "Oh. No, thanks. I travel light."
That much is true. Her possessions barely filled the trunk of her car—clothes, books, a laptop, and an alarming number of coffee mugs, for some reason. Almost like she left in a hurry. Or like she's not planning to stay long, despite what she told us.
“Ehem,” I clear my throat, internally cringing at the question I know I have to ask her.
“I apologize for bringing it up again, but downstairs you said that your designation situation was complicated. What did you mean by that?”
She stiffens, her gaze darting away from mine. But she doesn't answer my question. In fact, she says nothing at all.
“I’m afraid I must insist on an answer. For your welfare and ours. Are you a beta or an omega?”
A pretty pink flushes across her tan cheeks, her eyes narrowing at me as she grits out, “I’m technically an omega.”
Well, fuck.
"We have a lockable cabinet in the bathroom for personal items," I blurt out, leaning against the doorframe. "For medications, suppressants, that sort of thing."
Something flickers across her face—wariness, maybe irritation.
"Will you be... in need of a nest?" I ask directly. "Or do you prefer heat clinics? We'd just need advance notice for scheduling purposes."
Her spine straightens like I've jabbed her with a cattle prod. "Excuse me?"
"For your heats," I clarify, though I know perfectly well what she's objecting to. "The listing mentioned the house is alpha-friendly, but we can accommodate omega needs as well. We just need to plan accordingly."
Her cheeks flush a deeper color, not with embarrassment but with anger. "That's an incredibly inappropriate question to ask someone you just met."
"It's a practical household consideration," I counter smoothly. "Just like knowing if someone has food allergies or works night shifts."
She sets the book down with deliberate care. "I'm latent," she says stiffly. "So neither the nest nor clinics will be necessary."
Interesting. That explains the unusual scent that had Theo looking like a confused bloodhound earlier. Latent cases are rare after twenty-five, almost unheard of after twenty-seven, which means...
"How old are you?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"Twenty-eight," she answers, her tone making it clear she's reached her limit with personal questions. "And fully capable of managing my own medical situation, thanks."
I nod, making a mental note. Latent at twenty-eight. That's not just unusual—it's a potential complication. If she presents while living here... I push the thought aside. It's unlikely. And even if it happens, it's not our problem as long as she pays rent on time.
"Dinner's at seven," I say, changing the subject. "We rotate cooking duties. Tonight's Theo's turn, which means pizza because he burns water."
A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. " He mentioned that. I think I can handle pizza."
"Good. I'll let you finish settling in."
I head downstairs, mentally cataloging what I know about our new roommate:
She's latent at an age when most people have been fully presented for nearly a decade.
She fled Heraford in a hurry with minimal possessions.
She's clearly hiding something.
She bristles at direct questions.
She chose "I'm not an omega" over "I'm a beta" when Jasper confronted her.
None of these things automatically make her a problem. But together, they form a pattern that my orderly mind can't help but flag as potentially disruptive.
Not that it matters. This is a transaction, not a pack bonding exercise. We need her rent money for the loan payment, not her friendship or her backstory. 3 months, and then we can reevaluate.
Later that evening, I hear movement in the kitchen and find Rowan standing in front of the open pantry, looking uncertain.
"The mugs go in the cabinet above the coffee maker," I say, making her jump for the second time. She's skittish, this one.
"Sorry," she says, quickly closing the pantry door. "I was just trying to figure out which cabinets are communal and which might be, you know, claimed territory."
Smart. Most people wouldn't think of that.
"Left side of the pantry is shared basics—flour, sugar, spices, pasta. The right side is sorted by owner. You can have the bottom shelf." I point to the cabinets. "Same with the fridge. Communal condiments on the door, personal items on assigned shelves."
She nods, absorbing the information with a serious expression that makes her look younger somehow. "And the coffee maker? Is that... a shared resource or should I get my own?"
"Shared, but Jasper has strong opinions about how it's cleaned. Leave it spotless or face his wrath."
"Noted," she says, and then, after a pause: "Thank you."
The politeness catches me off guard. It's formal, almost stiff, but genuine.
I'm not used to omegas—even latent ones—being quite so.
.. contained. In my experience, they tend toward either excessive friendliness or nervous deference, especially around alphas.
Rowan does neither. She's watchful, guarded, but with a core of steel that shows through in small moments.
"Your scent is unusual," I remark, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly to see how she'll react. "Theo noticed it too."
She visibly stiffens, hands tightening around the mug she's holding. "Is that a problem?"
"Just an observation."
She sets the mug down on the counter with a small click. "Well, as I said, I'm latent. My scent is... undeveloped."
"Even for someone latent, it's distinctive," I press. "Almost like it's suppressed."
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, there's something fierce and defensive there.
"I use mild blockers. Doctor's recommendation.
It helps with the instability." She straightens her shoulders.
"Is there anything else about my personal medical situation you'd like to interrogate me about, or can I finish unpacking my mugs in peace? "
Point taken.
"The cabinet's all yours," I say, stepping back. "Dinner at seven."
I retreat to the living room, where Theo is sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone with one hand and absently tapping on the back of the couch.
"Find out anything interesting?" Theo asks without looking up, his tone deceptively casual.
"She's latent," I say quietly, though I can hear Rowan moving around upstairs now.
"Twenty-eight and latent."
That gets his attention. He sits up, "Really? That's—"
"Rare. Yes."
"Did she say why?"
I shake my head. "Not exactly forthcoming with personal details."
Theo mulls this over, his expression thoughtful. "You know, some late bloomers don't respond well to standard suppressants. They can mask symptoms without actually preventing anything. Just delays the inevitable."
I frown. "You think she's not on suppressants?"
"I'm saying it's possible," he replies. "Her scent is... there's something about it. Like it's trying to emerge through layers of blocker. If she's using over-the-counter stuff instead of prescription—"
"Then she could present unexpectedly," I finish, the implications clicking into place. "While living in a house with three unmated alphas."
Theo winces. "That would be..."
"A disaster," I supply. "Jasper would lose his mind."
"Not to mention a completely vulnerable omega suddenly going into heat around three strangers," Theo adds, his medical training kicking in. "Even with the best intentions, that's a recipe for trauma."
I rub my temples, feeling a headache forming. This was supposed to be simple. A temporary roommate, a financial stopgap, an uncomplicated solution to our very specific problem. Not this—whatever this is.
"We don't know for sure," I say, more to convince myself than Theo. "And even if she is at risk of presenting, it might not happen during the months she's here."
"True," Theo concedes, but he doesn't sound convinced. "What's your read on her otherwise?"
I consider the question. "Guarded. Smart. Stubborn. Hiding something."
"Hiding something doesn't automatically mean it's something bad," Theo points out, always the optimist.
"It doesn't automatically mean it's good, either," I counter.
From upstairs, we hear a door close, then footsteps heading toward the bathroom. Rowan's moving around the house, learning its contours, finding her place within its walls. For now, at least.
"So what's the plan?" Theo asks, lowering his voice further.
I sigh. "We keep an eye on her. If she starts causing problems..."
"Problems like...?"
"Like presenting as an omega in a house full of alphas," I say bluntly. "Or whatever she's running from catching up to her here. Or Jasper completely losing it if he figures out she might be omega."
Theo's eyebrows draw together. "So what, we just kick her out if any of that happens? Where's she supposed to go?"
"That's not our concern," I say, even as something uncomfortable stirs in my chest. "This is a business arrangement, not a rescue mission."
"Right," Theo says, studying me with that knowing look of his. "Just business."
I ignore the implication. "I'm going to get some work done before dinner. Let me know when the pizza gets here."
As I head to my room, I try to focus on spreadsheets and budget projections, on the clean certainty of numbers.
But my mind keeps circling back to Rowan—to the careful way she held herself in the kitchen, to that flash of steel when I pushed too far, to the nagging sense that we've just invited disruption into our carefully ordered lives.
One month, I remind myself. Just four weeks, and then she's gone.
But even as I think it, I can't shake the feeling that something has been set in motion—something none of us, least of all Rowan herself, is prepared for.