"Couldn't follow most of it. His accent gets thicker when he's unconscious." Silas shifted against the wall, settling more comfortably, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "Caught something about cheese. Strong opinions about biscuits."
A snort came from behind me, and Remy shifted against my back, his arm tightening possessively around my waist, fingers splaying across my stomach through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt. "I do not talk in my sleep," he mumbled into my shoulder, the words muffled and drowsy, his lips brushing my skin with each syllable.
"You do." Harper's rumble came from the floor, his shoulder rolling beneath my palm as he stretched, muscles shifting under sun-weathered skin. He groaned low as his joints popped, the sound of a body that had slept on hardwood instead of a bed. "Something about a roux and someone named Jacques who doesn't deserve his culinary degree."
"Jacques is a hack and I stand by that, asleep or awake." Remy lifted his head, curls wild and pressed flat on one side, pillow creases marking his cheek, indignation written across his sleep-softened features even as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "The man doesn't know the difference between a blonde roux and a brick roux. It's embarrassing." He pushed himself up on one elbow, the blanket falling away from his bare chest, tattoos stark against golden skin in the pale morning light.
"I don't know what that means." Harper sat up slowly, his massive frame unfolding from the floor with a series of pops and cracks that made me wince in sympathy. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, dark strands sticking up at odd angles, his beard flattened on one side from sleep. "But I believe you."
"You should. I'm very trustworthy about roux-related matters." Remy pressed a kiss to my shoulder, lingering for just a moment, his lips curving into a smile against my skin before he rolled away to stretch. His joints protested almost as loudly as Harper's had, and he groaned dramatically, arching his back like a cat. "Is that coffee I smell? Please tell me that's coffee." He turned pleading amber eyes toward Silas, hands pressed together in mock prayer.
"Kitchen." Silas jerked his chin in that direction, watching Remy's theatrics with the sort of patient resignation usually reserved for tolerating misbehaving puppies. "Made enough for everyone. Even the roux expert." Flat words, but a thread of dry amusement wove through them, barely detectable unless you knew to listen for it.
The morning routine felt different now.
Not awkward—though by all rights it should have been, four people navigating a small cabin, taking turns in the single bathroom, bumping into each other in the narrow kitchen. Instead, it felt natural. Like we'd been doing this for years instead of days. Like the pack declaration from the night before had unlocked a door, let us move through each other's space without hesitation or apology.
I found myself watching them as I nursed my coffee at the kitchen table, the ceramic warm between my palms. Harper had taken over dish duty without being asked, his big hands surprisingly gentle with my mismatched plates, handling the chipped edges with more care than they probably deserved. Water dripped from his thick forearms as he worked, muscles flexing with each movement. Remy was already planning breakfast, pulling ingredients from the cooler with the focused intensity of an artist preparing his canvas, muttering to himself in French as he assessed what we had left. Silas had disappeared outside to check on things, his lean silhouette visible through the window as he walked the perimeter with that silent, predatory grace, pausing occasionally to study something in the mud or test the give of a board.
"You're staring." Remy's teasing floated over his shoulder as he cracked eggs into a bowl, the shells crunching delicately in his skilled fingers, never a piece falling into the mix.
"I'm observing." I wrapped my hands tighter around my mug, hiding my smile behind the rim. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" He shot me a grin over his shoulder, honey-gold eyes bright with mischief, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. A curl had fallen across his forehead and he didn't bother pushing it back. "And what are your observations telling you, chere?"
I considered the question, really thought about it, watching the way the morning light caught the copper threads in his hair, the easy confidence in how he moved through my kitchen like he belonged there. "That this feels right." The words came out softer than I'd intended, surprising me with their honesty. "That I didn't know I was missing something until I had it."
Remy's whisking slowed, then stopped entirely. He turned to face me fully, hope and hunger warring across his handsome features, his usual mask of charm slipping to reveal something raw underneath. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I set down my coffee and crossed to him, the floor cool beneath my bare feet, and slid my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek to his shoulder blade. I could feel his heart beating faster than it should, could smell his scent shifting sweeter—honey and cinnamon warming with emotion. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late." He covered my hands with one of his, squeezing gently, his thumb tracing absent patterns across my knuckles. "It's already there. Growing by the second. Soon it won't fit through doorways." The joke landed light, but I felt the tremor in his grip—the emotion he was trying to bury beneath humor, the way his fingers tightened like he was afraid I might pull away.
Harper grunted from the sink, setting a plate in the cabinet with more care than strictly necessary, the soft clink of ceramic the only sound for a moment. "Your head's already too big for most doorways." His reflection in the window above the sink showed the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, barely visible beneath his beard.
"Jealousy doesn't become you, mon ami." Remy tossed back without heat—just the easy banter of people learning to be pack, testing the boundaries of what they could say to each other and finding them wider than expected.
Silas came back inside as breakfast finished, bringing with him the smell of damp earth and slowly draining marshland, mud caked on the soles of his boots. He paused in the doorway, taking in the domestic scene—me still wrapped around Remy, Harper moving through the kitchen like he'd always belonged there, eggs sizzling on the camp stove. Something flickered across his usually impassive face, too quick to name, before it smoothed back into careful neutrality.
"Power's back on the main road." He closed the door behind him, the latch clicking softly, and moved to pour himself more coffee with economical motions, not a single movement wasted. "Saw the lights flickering through the trees. Should have it here by tonight, tomorrow at the latest."
"That's good news." I reluctantly released Remy so he could finish cooking, immediately missing his warmth, and leaned against the counter instead, arms crossed over my chest. "Means we can start thinking about getting back to normal."
The words felt strange in my mouth. Wrong, somehow.
"What's normal now?" Harper asked, turning from the sink to face us, dish towel slung over his broad shoulder, and the question hung in the air like smoke, heavy with everything we weren't saying.
None of us had an answer.
We ate breakfast on the living room floor again—eggs and bacon and toast that was somehow better than anything I'd ever made on my own stove. The food was simple but perfect, seasoned with Remy's expertise and eaten with fingers that kept brushing against each other as we reached for the same pieces. Gumbo had finally relinquished his stolen pillow, relocating toa sunny spot near the window where he could watch both us and the receding bayou with equal suspicion, his ancient eyes tracking every movement we made.
"We should talk about it." Remy's fork paused halfway to his mouth, bacon dangling forgotten from the tines, his expression unusually serious. The morning light carved shadows beneath his cheekbones, made him look older, more vulnerable. "What happens when we can all go home."
"What's to talk about?" Harper's brow furrowed, deep lines cutting across his forehead, confusion evident in every angle of his face. He set down his plate with a soft thunk. "We're pack now. That doesn't change just because we're not stuck together."
"But what does it look like?" Remy leaned forward, intensity replacing his usual easy charm, his breakfast abandoned entirely now. "Do we date? Court officially? Do we tell people? Do we—" He gestured vaguely with his fork, struggling for words, frustration tightening the corners of his mouth. "I don't know how this works. Three Alphas, one Omega. It's not exactly traditional."
"Traditional is overrated." I reached over to squeeze his knee, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles, anchoring him with touch when words weren't enough. "We figure it out as we go. That's how it works."
