"Yeah," I say. "That is my Dad. We are on... meh terms right now." I release his hand, shrugging with practiced casualness. "But that is the life of an Omega, for you. Family dynamics get complicated when your existence becomes an inconvenience to their plans."
Archie frowns, the expression settling into the lines of his face like it belongs there. Like frowning is his natural state and everything else is just a temporary deviation.
Then he smirks, the shift so quick it catches me off guard.
"Yeah, well. I am an Alpha and still having a shitty rock of a relationship with my Dad, so maybe it is more common with children raised by coaches and their impossibly high standards." He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "They expect excellence from their athletes and then expect the same from their kids, and when you do not perform at that level twenty-four-seven, you are suddenly not good enough."
I laugh, the sound genuine and surprised.
"Agreed. Coaches' children support group, right here. Membership: two."
He almost smiles. Almost.
Before I can say anything else, a broad chest steps directly into the space between our desks, blocking Archie from my view entirely.
Rafe.
His scent hits me first. Leather and burnt cedar, sharp and dominating, filling the space between us with the kind ofpheromone intensity that screams Alpha in capital letters. He stands with his arms crossed, storm-gray eyes fixed on me with an expression that manages to be simultaneously annoyed and imperious.
"Why the hell are you making friends?"
I blink up at him.
"Uh... are you stupid? Why would I not make friends? I am new to the school. That is literally what people do on their first day. Meet other humans. Exchange words. Participate in the social contract."
"You do not need to be socializing with every Alpha who looks at you."
"I was introducing myself, Rafe. It is not a marriage proposal. Calm down."
He huffs, dismissing my entire argument with a single exhale, and then grabs my bag off the desk.
Just takes it.
Picks it up and starts walking toward the door like he has every right to confiscate my personal belongings without permission.
"We are leaving," he announces over his shoulder.
I gawk at his retreating back.
"Wait! You are kidnapping my essentials!" I scramble after him, weaving through desks. "That is my bag, Rafe! You cannot just take people's possessions and walk away!"
He holds the bag up, examining it with unconcealed disgust as he walks.
"You need a new fucking bag. Why the hell is it held together by pins? There are literally safety pins where the zipper used to be. This is not a bag, it is a cry for help."
"Fuck off. That bag has served me faithfully for three years."
"Three YEARS?"
Sage appears at my side, loyal and defensive.
"It gives CHARACTER," she declares. "That bag has been through the trenches. It has earned its battle scars."
Jace flanks my other side, nodding solemnly.
"And it still works and fits our girl's standards of practicality. Function over form. Very on brand for Mae."
I grin at both of them, grateful for the backup. Because yes, my bag is falling apart. Yes, it is held together by safety pins and prayers. Yes, it probably belongs in a dumpster. But it is mine, and having friends who defend its honor instead of mocking its condition makes the humiliation of walking through a hallway full of students carrying designer leather satchels feel a fraction less crushing.
