Alex watches, thoughtful.
"I used to bake a lot. Card nights. Bad shifts. Birthdays. Tuesdays."
"What happened?" Marcus asks.
"The kitchen got professionalized. Marie started reorganizing. Cooking more for her alphas. I backed off."
"Because you were told to," Finn says softly.
I don't answer.
"Well, like I told you before, you're welcome to use our kitchen. Any time. Seriously. We have counter space, an oven that probably isn't haunted, and a stand mixer I fear and respect. You could teach me how not to disgrace dough."
Alex nods. "Open invite. If you need more space."
Ragon's jaw twitches. "As long as she keeps her responsibilities here, I have no objection to her socializing."
Socializing.
Like I'm a pet being allowed to meet other dogs.
"See?" Marie says brightly. "More people for you to bake for. Maybe you can redirect your 'sugar energy.'"
I want to throw the crumble at the wall.
I don't.
I keep cutting my chicken into tiny, perfect bites and swallow them like they're gravel.
The rest of dinner skims along the surface.
They talk about work—Alex and Malcolm run some security consulting outfit. Finn does registry-adjacent data work, which makes Jasper perk up.
Eli and Malcolm bond over broken equipment. Drake and Finn argue about bakeries. Marie laughs in the right places and asks the right questions.
I sit at the bar and answer direct questions and otherwise try to make myself furniture.
When dessert comes, I stand to plate by default. It's something to do.
"Vee," Finn says when I slide a slice in front of him. "This looks insane. In a good way. If you ever want to teach a toasted-bread-level beta how not to ruin pastry, seriously. Our place. Any time."
I meet his eyes for the first time since Ragon said ‘discipline’ like a compliment.
They're kind.
Not pitying. Not nosy.
Just kind.
"I'll think about it."
"I'll hold you to that."
Ragon huffs. "If it keeps her out of trouble, I won't complain."
Alex's mouth flattens.
Jasper takes a slow sip. Eli's hand curls where it rests on his thigh, knuckles whitening.
