Vanilla and musk and winter air. The scent of my scent match, making himself comfortable in my temporary home.
"MaeBell!" Cal's voice booms from the kitchen. "You are alive! I was starting to think I would have to send a search party into that closet. How is the knee? How did you sleep? Are you hungry? Stupid question, you are always hungry. I am making bacon and eggs and those little potato things Etienne likes."
"Hash browns," Etienne supplies without looking up from his book, though his eyes flicker to me with the speed of someone who cannot help tracking my movements.
"Hash browns," Cal confirms. "Which are apparently called something fancier in French, but I refuse to pronounce it because my tongue was not designed for that language and every time I try, Laurent over there looks at me like I have personally offended his ancestors."
"Because you have," Etienne murmurs. "Repeatedly."
I laugh, the sound surprising me with its genuineness.
"I slept okay," I answer Cal's earlier question, moving toward the kitchen island where I can perch on a stool and watch him cook. "Knee is stiff but manageable. And yes, I am starving. Whatever you are making smells incredible."
Cal beams at the compliment, flipping bacon with a flourish that nearly sends a strip flying across the kitchen.
"See? This is why I cook. For the appreciation. Not because I am good at it, though I am excellent at it, but because people like you actually notice when things smell good instead of just grunting like some Alphas I could name."
He does not say Rafe's name.
He does not have to.
Raphael ends his call and slides his phone into his pocket, crossing the living room to join us in the kitchen area. His movements carry the same unhurried confidence I noticed yesterday, the calm authority of someone who does not need to rush because he knows the world will wait for him.
"Good news," he announces, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "I have been working with university administration on the housing situation since early this morning. There was an error in the original system."
Everyone's attention focuses on him.
"Rafe was never supposed to be in this particular dorm," Raphael continues, his French accent curling around the words with a precision that makes them sound more official than they probably are. "The assignment was a clerical mistake. When he requested a new entry pass this morning, the system flagged the discrepancy and denied the request."
My brows furrow.
"Wait. He requested a new entry pass? Does that mean..."
"That would explain why he never showed up last night," Etienne finishes quietly, closing his book. "He could not get back in. The keycard was deactivated."
Cal snorts, though there is a complicated mix of emotions on his face, amusement warring with something that looks like concern.
"So he has been locked out of his own dorm? Since when?"
"Since approximately midnight," Raphael answers. "According to the housing office, he tried to enter multiple times before eventually giving up. They are not sure where he spent the night, but it was not here."
Locked out. Literally locked out of the apartment by a clerical error that his own brother flagged to the administration.
That is either cosmic justice or a very calculated move. Maybe both.
Before anyone can comment further, a knock sounds at the door.
Sharp. Insistent. The kind of knock that carries frustration in every rap.
Cal sets down his spatula and crosses to the door, pulling it open to reveal exactly the person I expected.
Rafe stands in the hallway, his gray eyes blazing with the fury of a man who has spent the night displaced and has arrived to demand answers. His clothes are the same ones he wore yesterday, wrinkled now from hours of sleep in an unfamiliar location. His sandy hair is disheveled, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and the leather and burnt cedar scent that rolls off him is spiked with aggression.
His gaze lands on Raphael, who is still on the phone, and his expression darkens further.
"You," Rafe snarls, stepping into the apartment without invitation. "You did this. You got me locked out of my own fucking dorm."
Raphael lifts one finger, a casual gesture requesting patience, and continues speaking into the phone.
