“Good and omega don’t always line up,” says Bastion, with a bitter laugh. “At least not in this house.”
Helena’s smile is knife-bright. “You’ve never even met her, Bass. Maybe this is the one time you’re wrong.”
“I’m never wrong,” Bastion says, but there’s no venom left in it.
Wyatt finally turns from the window. “She’s stubborn. You’ll like her, Helena. She’s stubborn in the way that makes Councilors hate themselves.”
Richard drinks, winces, and jumps into the conversation like he’s diving on to a grenade. “Why are we even pretending this is a real thing? It’s a formality. Give it a month, then bail.”
My father regards Richard like he’s dogshit on a good shoe. “You’d know about bailing, wouldn’t you? You’ve been suspended from two schools in three years.”
Richard grins, pure teenage spite. “And yet here I am. Still in the line.”
My father sets his jaw. “You could learn something from your brother. He understands what it means to carry a pack.”
I want to punch a wall. “I understand that you’ve made it clear since I was nine that everything’s my fault, and now it’s my job to fix it. Don’t pin this on me.”
My father steps closer and lowers his voice. “Nobody asked you to be a martyr, Ranier. You did that all on your own.”
Helena slides between us and holds up her hands. “Stop it. This is why nobody wants to visit. Just—let’s be civil for one afternoon, okay? The new omega arrives later today, right? Maybe she’ll be terrible, and then you can all gloat together. But until then, can we just eat lunch and pretend to be a family?”
Nobody answers. It’s not that kind of house.
Finally, Bastion heaves himself upright. “I’ll have the table set.” He gives me a look, half warning and half exhaustion. “You coming, Starling? Or you want to sulk until morning?”
I brush past my father, not quite shouldering him. “I’ll be there.”
Wyatt gives Helena a half-bow and offers his arm. She takes it, rolling her eyes for show but not resisting.
In the dining room, the table is already set with candles, linen, and crystal. My father sits at the head, with Helena and Richard to his right, and the three of us—the so-called “Everhart Pack”—lined up on the left. Bastion pours more wine.
My father clears his throat. “I want to toast Ranier. Not just for doing what the Council asked, but for holding this family together when so many have tried to tear it apart.”
I don’t raise my glass. I just stare at the flame.
Helena nudges me, whispers, “Don’t be an asshole. Just once.”
I pick up the glass. For a second, I want to scream. Instead, I fill the silence with my own toast: “To the omega we didn’t want, and the future we can’t escape.” I drink.
Helena bites her lip to keep from laughing. “You could at leasttryto be optimistic.”
“What’s optimistic is surviving the next six months with my brain intact.”
My father waves a hand, dismissing the whole exchange. “It won’t be that bad. She’s not the first girl to walk into a house that hated her. She won’t be the last.”
I look at him, hard. “It didn’t go well for the last one, if you recall.”
He shrugs. “That wasn’t my doing. That was yours.”
The conversation dies after that. We eat in silence, each of us pretending the food has flavor, the wine isn’t vinegar, the air isn’t made of secrets and half-buried threats.
After lunch, Helena corners me in the hall. She waits until the others are out of earshot, then steps in front of me, arms crossed.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” she says.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re scared, Ranier. Not angry. Scared. You think letting this girl in is going to finish what’s left of the line, or ruin the pack, or maybe just ruin you. But you’re not the only one in this family. You don’t have to carry all of it.”
