Since when does Etienne grow a spine?
I have known the guy for two years. He is quiet. Reserved. The kind of person who avoids conflict like it is a communicable disease. I have never heard him raise his voice, let alone threaten violence against his own blood.
But apparently all it takes to unlock his inner Alpha is one specific Omega with a smart mouth and eyes that hold too many secrets.
Great. Just great. So now both of my packmates are falling over themselves to protect the woman who is supposed to be our enemy. Or at least our unwanted houseguest. Or whatever the fuck she is.
This is fine. Everything is fine.
Nothing about this situation is remotely fine.
Now we are back inside, the door firmly slammed in Bastien's face, and Miss Phillip is going over the house rules like we are freshmen who have never lived away from home before.
"Curfew is midnight on weekdays, two AM on weekends," she is saying, scrolling through something on her tablet. "The doors lock automatically after curfew. If you are locked out, you can use the emergency call button by the entrance, but please be aware that repeated late arrivals will be noted in your file."
I am barely listening. My attention keeps drifting to Mabeline, who is standing near the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her expression carefully neutral, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. The way she keeps her back to the wall, positioning herself near the exit.
Like she is ready to run at the first sign of danger.
Like she does not trust any of us.
Smart girl.
"Quiet hours are from eleven PM to seven AM," Miss Phillip continues. "This applies to all activities, including..." She pauses, her lips pressing together in a way that suggests she has had to give this particular lecture too many times. "...intimate activities."
Cal snorts. I refuse to look at him.
"The walls in these units are quite thin," Miss Phillip adds, her voice dripping with pointed emphasis. "What you do in your private rooms is your business, but please be considerate of your roommates and neighbors. Noise complaints will be taken seriously."
Thin walls. Do not be loud when having sex.
Good to know. Not that it is relevant. Not that I am planning to have sex anywhere near this dorm while that Omega is living here.
Even if she does smell like everything I never knew I wanted.
"Miss Rose." Miss Phillip turns to address Mabeline directly. "Your room is the last one on the left. It is the smallest of the four bedrooms, I am afraid. There were some issues with the original space arrangements."
"Issues?" Mabeline asks, her eyebrow arching slightly.
"The unit was originally designed for three residents. Adding a fourth required some creative solutions." Miss Phillip's smile is apologetic but firm. "However, good behavior and positive progress reports can lead to upgraded accommodations. We have larger rooms available in other units that may open up over the course of the semester."
I watch Mabeline process this information. Watch the way her jaw tightens slightly, then deliberately relaxes. The way she forces her shoulders to drop from their defensive hunch.
"No, this is enough space," she says, and her voice is steady. Calm. Completely at odds with the tension I can smell bleeding through her scent. "Honestly, it is bigger than my last place. I will be fine."
Bigger than her last place?
I frown, glancing at Cal and Etienne. They are both wearing matching expressions of confusion, clearly having the same thought I am.
The smallest bedroom in this unit is barely larger than a closet. A twin bed, a small desk, a narrow wardrobe. Room to stand and room to sleep and not much else.
Where the fuck was she living before if this counts as an upgrade?
But she does not elaborate. Just nods at Miss Phillip like the conversation is closed, her face a mask of polite neutrality that gives nothing away.
"Well then." Miss Phillip tucks her tablet under her arm. "If you need anything, you can use the Omega hotline. The number is posted in your room and in the common areas. For more serious questions or concerns, you are welcome to text me directly." She pulls out a business card and hands it to Mabeline. "My personal number is on the back."
"Thank you." Mabeline takes the card, tucking it into the back pocket of her jeans.
