Tank arches an eyebrow, the first movement any of them have made since I opened my mouth. "What problem would that be?"
I sigh, running a hand through my messy hair. The borrowed t-shirt shifts on my shoulder, and I'm suddenly very aware of how I must look—barefoot, wearing an Alpha's clothes, standing in a kitchen that doesn't belong to me after a night that definitely belonged to me in ways I'm still processing.
"Well," I say carefully, "I'm practically a runaway Omega. So that may cause some... complications."
Elias frowns, the teasing light fading from his hazel-green eyes. "What do you mean, runaway?"
How do I explain this? How do I tell them that my family views me as property? That my aunt is trying to force me into an arranged marriage? That there are bounty hunters searching for me, and being associated with any pack—even temporarily—could put targets on their backs?
"It's... complicated," I admit, and the word feels inadequate for the tangled mess that is my life. "So maybe we should eat breakfast first? Before I dump my entire tragic backstory on you and ruin everyone's appetite."
There's a beat of silence, and then Tank nods slowly. "Fair enough." He gestures to the table, where the food has been waiting patiently. "We should eat before it gets cold anyway."
"I'm definitely hungry," Elias agrees, already reaching for his plate. "Starving, actually. That twelve-hour shift took it out of me."
Julian says nothing. He just watches me with those piercing green eyes, studying me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. Like every piece of information about me is being catalogued and analyzed behind that beautiful, frustrating face.
I notice his scrutiny but pretend I don't. It's easier that way. Safer.
He's probably hard to please. A man who looks like that, who works in an industry built on perfection and appearances—he probably has standards that most people couldn't meet on their best day. I wonder if he's only in modeling, or if there's something else. Something beneath the surface that explains the way he carries himself, the intelligence in his eyes, the hint of something darker that lurks behind the pretty facade.
I make myself a plate—smaller than the ones I prepared for the Alphas, because my stomach is still knotted with nerves—and settle into the remaining chair at the table. It puts me between Tank and Elias, with Julian directly across from me. His scent reaches me even at this distance: patchouli and vanilla and cardamom, dark florals and polished woods. It mingles with the other two—Tank's smoked leather and cedar, Elias's woodsmoke and pine—creating something new. Something that feels like it could behome.
Don't think like that. This is temporary. This is fake. This is just a business arrangement to help a stranger save his career.
The quietness is less awkward now that we're all focused on eating. Forks clink against plates. Coffee is sipped. Sasha has positioned himself beneath the table, his warm weight pressing against my bare feet, and I find myself grateful for the grounding presence.
I take a bite of the pancakes I made, and they're actually pretty good. Fluffy, slightly sweet, with just a hint of vanilla. The bacon is crispy but not burnt. The eggs are seasoned properly. I'm a decent cook, when I have time and space and ingredients to work with.
This is the first time I've ever sat down to eat with Alphas like this.
The realization hits me unexpectedly, settling in my chest with a weight that's both heavy and hollow. I grew up in a family full of Alphas—my father, my brothers, the endless parade of"suitable matches" my aunt paraded through our home. But I never ate with them. Not really. I was always served separately, always kept at a distance, always reminded that my place was not at the table but on the auction block.
My father took his meals in his study. My brothers ate together, a closed circle that never included me. And Aunt Vivienne—the woman who's been trying to sell me off since my parents' death—she made it very clear that omegas don't dine with Alphas. We serve them. We wait for them. We eat what's left when they're done.
And my ex-pack... we never sat down together either. There were always demands, always expectations, always something more important than sharing a meal. I was there to serve, not to belong.
But here, in Tank's sunlit kitchen, with Sasha's fur warm against my toes and the scent of three Alphas surrounding me... here, I'm sitting at the table. I have a plate. I have a seat. No one has asked me to eat in another room or wait until they're finished.
Julian is focused on his food, eating with the precise, deliberate movements of someone who's been trained to be aware of every bite. Elias eats with more enthusiasm, making small sounds of appreciation that should be annoying but somehow just seem genuine. And Tank... Tank is watching everything. Watching his packmates. Watching me. Watching the way I hold my fork and the way I cut my pancakes and the expression on my face.
It shouldn't feel this significant. It shouldn't make my throat tight or my eyes sting. It's just breakfast. It's just?—
Tank's eyes lock with mine across the table.
"What's on your mind?"
I laugh nervously, caught off guard by the directness of the question. "What? Nothing. Do I look weird or something?"
He shakes his head slowly, those dark eyes never leaving mine. "No. Your expression is filled with longing. Which is... intriguing to me."
Longing. He saw longing on my face. He noticed something that private, that personal, that buried—and he called it out like it was nothing. Like reading people is as natural to him as breathing.
No one has ever seen me that clearly before. No one has ever looked at me and noticed the things I'm trying to hide. My family saw a bargaining chip. My ex-pack saw a possession. But Tank... Tank saw longing. Tank saw the hunger for something I've never had. And he didn't look away or pretend not to notice.
"You're rather observant," I say, deflecting with a small smile. "Is that a skill set?"
Tank smirks—that devastating half-smile that does things to my insides—but before he can answer, Elias jumps in.
