Chapter 19
Two weeks.
Two weeks since they violated my nest. Two weeks since something inside me went quiet and never came back.
The house feels different now. Not because the walls changed. Because I did.
I move through the rooms like a ghost passing through a place it used to haunt.
My routine revolves around their absence: chores when they're gone, meals prepared but eaten alone in my room.
I time my showers for when no one else is awake.
I fold laundry in my bedroom. I exist in the spaces between them.
The alphas remain under Ragon's command not to comfort me.
I find myself strangely unbothered by this.
That desperate part of me—the one that used to crave an alpha's touch like oxygen—has simply evaporated.
When Drake's hand reaches for me out of habit and he jerks it back, remembering, I feel nothing.
When Eli hovers in doorways with apologies trapped behind his teeth, I slip past him without looking up.
When Ragon watches me with that assessing gaze, waiting for me to break, I offer him the same pleasant neutrality I'd give a store clerk.
They smell wrong to me now.
Not bad. Just wrong. Like a song played in the wrong key. My body used to lean toward their scents without permission—pine and citrus and tea pulling me in like gravity. Now when I'm in a room with them, my lungs work a little harder, like my body is trying not to breathe too deep.
Marie, on the other hand, floats through the house like she owns it.
She does, in every way that matters.
She's the pack omega. I'm just waiting around to see what happens to me.
The bonding's been put on hold.
Jasper filed his incident report—both the zoo fall and what happened after. Now we're waiting to see if the Omega Protection Agency steps in.
Ragon's not worried. He still thinks he was justified in "teaching me my place.
" He was furious with Jasper at first, until both Jasper and Eli reminded him that incidents involving unbonded omegas legally require documentation.
Between Marie's public fall at the zoo and the nest violation, there was no keeping it quiet.
I overheard Eli in Ragon's office last week, voice tight with something that might have been fear.
"They're going to look at patterns. The kneeling incident from months ago—that should have been reported then instead of kept internal. If the registry sees unreported discipline stacking up, they might pull her custody entirely."
Ragon's response was dismissive. Something about "overreach" and "my omega, my authority."
His omega.
I'm not sure I ever was. But I'm certainly not now.
The zoo footage is beyond our reach. The registry administrators requested it directly from the zoo. The zoo’s legal team has gotten involved. We haven't heard anything back yet.
Not that it matters to me anymore.
Ragon convicted me on Marie's word alone. The truth won't change what he did to me. No apology can erase the feeling of being held in a chair while they ruined the only place I felt safe.
Some things can't be taken back.
Some things shouldn't be forgiven.
The garden has become my sanctuary.
Finn helps sometimes, appearing over the fence with dirt under his nails and terrible jokes. He's a beta—safe in a way alphas aren't. No command in his scent. No pull. Just easy laughter and the kind of friendship that doesn't ask me to be anything other than present.
Alex and Malcolm are different too.
They're alphas, yes. Tall and broad-shouldered and carrying that weight that alphas carry. But they have no claim on me. No control over my life. No ability to take anything else away from me or hurt me in ways that matter.
That makes them safe.
When Alex leans against the fence and asks how I'm doing, I can answer honestly because his opinion doesn't dictate whether I eat dinner at a table or on my barstool.
When Malcolm offers to help me carry bags of mulch, I can say yes because accepting doesn't mean I owe him my body or my bed or my silence.
They're just neighbors.
And somehow, that makes them the only alphas I can stand to be near.
My own pack, though—
When Ragon enters a room, my first instinct is to find the exit. When Drake's laugh echoes from the living room, I take my book outside. When Eli tries to catch my eye across the kitchen, I suddenly remember something I need to do in the garage.
I don't hate them.
I just don't want to be near them.
My omega instincts—the ones that used to hum with wanting, with needing, with the desperate ache to be close to my alphas—have gone silent. I don't want to build a nest. I don't want to scent-mark my space. I don't want to curl up in anyone's lap and purr while they pet my hair.
I want to be left alone.
I bake at Finn's house when my hands need something to do. I plant bulbs in the garden when my head gets too loud. I've learned to comfort myself, to soothe my own stress, to exist without the alpha presence my body was supposedly built to crave.
Turns out I don't need them as much as everyone said I did.
Turns out I'm fine.
Aren’t I?
***
Ragon's study smells like paper and ink and the last ten years of his life pressed between file folders.
I pause in the doorway, spine straight, hands folded at my waist. I don't step over the threshold until he lets me. The overhead light is off; his desk lamp throws a warm gold circle over the mess of contract stacks and forgotten tea.
He doesn't look up right away.
That's fine. I can wait.
I let my breath settle into something quiet, eyes on the bookshelf over his shoulder instead of his face. The clock ticks. The house hums. Marie's laugh drifts from somewhere distant.
Finally, he signs something with a decisive stroke and glances toward the doorway.
"Verena."
Permission.
"Alpha." I dip my head. "Do you have a moment?"
His eyes narrow, assessing. "I'm in the middle of quarterly reports. Make it quick."
"Yes, Alpha."
I step forward two paces and stop. Far enough in to show respect, not enough to crowd. My heart is slow and obedient in my chest. It's almost funny, how easy that is now.
"I wanted to ask if I might join a club or activity outside the house. In the evenings."
He leans back in his chair. "Why?"
"To be out of everyone's way. Especially at night. It would give you more time with Marie. Our routine has changed. I thought it might be useful. Less crowded."
His scent doesn't spike. It settles, pleased.
"You feel crowded."
"I feel like an extra chair. It seems practical to move myself somewhere else for a few hours."
He huffs a breath that might be amusement. "What kind of club?"
"Cooking. Gardening. Maybe a fitness class." I keep my eyes on a point slightly left of his. "I don't have a preference. I'd choose something with a fixed schedule and a sign-in. You'd have my itinerary. You could track my location."
I know exactly how to speak his language.
His mouth curves. "You've thought this through."
"Yes, Alpha. I don't want to cause trouble. And it might be good for me to have something structured. Outside the house."
His gaze sweeps over me—my posture, my folded hands, the lack of argument in my voice. Satisfaction warms his scent.
"I'll consider it. We'll need to check vetting on any organization you attend. And transportation. You know I’ll have to assign an alpha to accompany you, but I’m not opposed to going out and having some fun."
"Of course. Thank you."
He nods, already reaching for his pen. "You've been doing better, Verena. Calmer. Less reactive. I'm glad you're accepting the new dynamics. This is the kind of behavior I knew you were capable of."
I keep my face smooth, shoulders loose. Inside, something brittle shifts and goes still.
"Yes, Alpha. I understand my place better now."
He smiles, small and satisfied, and bends back over the paperwork.
Dismissed.
I turn to go, and my gaze catches on a frame on the edge of his desk.
It's a photo from three summers ago. Before Marie. Before Jasper.
We're on the back patio, all four of us.
Drake's got a beer bottle balanced on his knee, mid-laugh.
Eli's half-turned toward me, glasses crooked, lips parted like he's about to say something.
I'm in the middle, barefoot, hair a mess, flour on my shirt, leaning into Ragon's side as he looks down at me with his rare, soft almost-smile.
His hand's in my hair. Fingers threaded in like it's the most natural thing in the world.
For a second, my throat goes tight.
I smooth it out.
"Good night, Alpha."
He grunts without looking up.
I close the door with a careful click.
My room is dim and smells like lemon cleaner and nothing else.
The bed is made—sheets stretched tight, pillows plain. I skirt around it like it's a hole in the floor and sink into the wingback chair instead, tucking my feet up. The cushion remembers the curve of my body better than the mattress does now.
Outside the window, the neighboring house glows with warm yellow light. Finn's silhouette passes through the kitchen, arms waving, head thrown back, probably laughing at his own joke while Alex pretends not to smile and Malcolm pretends not to roll his eyes.
I sit there for a long time, watching their shadows move together.
My phone buzzes like he knew I was thinking of them.
Finn: We made tea. And cookies. Your recipe. Come help us not eat them all.
I stare at the screen.
Finn: Door's open. No pressure. ...Okay, a little pressure. It's chocolate chip.
The corner of my mouth twitches.
I slide off the chair, slip on my shoes, and cross the yard.
Their kitchen is the opposite of ours.
Smaller, cluttered in a cozy way, every surface bearing the chaos of people who actually live here. There's a dish towel thrown over a chair, a potted herb on the windowsill, an open cookbook with flour dusting the pages. The table's half-covered in mugs and a plate piled with cookies.
Finn meets me at the back door, grinning like I'm the missing piece of his evening.