I clear plates when it's over.
After they leave, the house feels smaller.
Not quieter. Just smaller, somehow, after the glimpse of something else.
I load the dishwasher because that's what I know how to do. Eli hovers in the doorway, hands in his pockets.
"Vee. What Finn said about the kitchen... you should—"
"I know. He has a stand mixer. It's very seductive."
"Not just that. It's neutral. They don't have thehistory. Or the rules."
"Everyone has rules."
"Yes. But not these."
His fingers twitch, wanting to touch and not allowed.
I shut the dishwasher a little too hard.
"You're allowed to be angry."
"I'm not angry. I'm tired. And no, Eli, I'm not allowed to be angry. Not anymore."
Jasper appears in the doorway behind him.
"Temperature's dropping. Herbs will need covering."
I grab onto the excuse like a lifeline. "Right. Wouldn't want to kill the basil."
I slip past them both into the night.
The air is cold and sharp. I kneel and drape old sheets over the beds, tucking edges so the wind won't steal them.
The house behind me glows and hums—Ragon's low voice, Marie's softer one, Drake's laugh.
Next door, windows glow warm. A tall shape crosses one—Alex, probably. Another passes carrying something—Finn, maybe.
For the first time in weeks, stepping into another kitchen, another pack's space, doesn't feel like betrayal.
It feels like oxygen.
I tuck the last corner of the sheet and sit back on my heels, fingers numb.
Second-hand omega.
Unmarked.
Under discipline.
"Better."
If I can't be whole here, maybe I can at least be something over there.
Even if it's just a set of hands teaching a scent-blocked neighbor how to tell when bread dough feels right.
Even if, for a few hours, all I am is a neighbor who brings pie.
