He nods, satisfied. "Excellent. See? Progress."
It lands heavier than any correction.
"Do you want help with the prep?" Marie tries again.
"She won't overextend by delegating," Ragon answers for me, tone that special blend of fond and firm that makes me feel like a child with glue on her fingers. "Let her show us she can manage her lane."
My chest hollows. My lane. Two feet wide and taped in bright fluorescent lines.
"I'll manage. It's fine."
***
Friday comes too fast.
I spend the day in the kitchen because that's what I was told to do and because being elbow-deep in flour is better than sitting alone in my room.
Roast chicken. Mashed potatoes. Green beans. Two kinds of bread. Salad. Fruit crumble.
It's too much. It's also the only way I know to saysee mewithout opening my mouth.
The doorbell rings at six.
I wipe my hands on a towel and retreat to the stove, letting the alphas do the greeting.
"Alex Castillo. Thanks for having us."
"Malcolm Holmes. We brought wine. And Finn."
"I brought beer. And dessert from the bakery down the street we haven't traumatized yet."
"Come in. Shoes off, please."
They file into the kitchen.
Alex is tall—maybe even a shade taller than Ragon—broad through the chest, dark hair cut close, beard neatly trimmed. His scent brushes my nose and fizzles: unscented soap, light cologne, something heavier underneath that blockers smother.
Malcolm is leaner but not by much, sharp cheekbones, sleeves rolled to the forearms, tattoos peeking at his wrists.He smells like coffee and bulk-store hand soap. Whatever he really smells like is buried.
Finn I already know, but inside our house he feels more contained. Less jokey, more watchful.
"This is my pack," Ragon says. "Eli, Drake, Marie, Jasper. And Verena."
I turn at my name, towel still clenched.
"Vee," I correct on reflex.
Finn smiles. "We've met. She has very strong opinions about basil."
"You're still wrong about the watering schedule."
Alex's gaze flicks between us, then to the table. "You cooked all this?"
"Yes. It's nothing fancy."
"Smells incredible," Malcolm says. "You must live well here."
The words scrape something raw.
