He searches my face, the counter, the doorway, like he's checking for an angle. "Today?"
"Yeah. Finn texted. They finished unpacking the kitchen."
"Who gave Finn your number?"
"Drake."
Ragon exhales through his nose. "You want to go."
It's not a question.
I pick at a loose thread on the dish towel. "It would be nice. Their kitchen is big. Finn told me."
"You're still part of this pack. You understand that."
"I'm not asking to move in. Just to make cookies. It’ll keep me out of Marie’s way."
He studies me for a long moment.
I don't look away this time.
"Fine. Go. Be back before dinner. Let me know if anything feels off. I’m not entirely comfortable with you being around other alphas without protection. But they can’t be too much of a threat if they bonded in a beta."
Warmth flares in my chest. Permission. Actual permission. I let the insult about beta-bonded alphas slide off my back like water.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me for letting you have friends. Just be smart."
I grab my recipe notebook like a lifeline and leave before he can change his mind.
***
The neighbors' house smells like paint and cardboard and that flat, faint registry-clean that clings to people on blockers.
And underneath, very faintly, something my instincts love.
But it stops there. Like a path that dead-ends. No real read, no full picture. Justalmostand then static.
Alex opens the door.
He's in a worn T-shirt and sweatpants, bare feet, hair messy. "Hey. Vee, right? Come in. We've been threatening Finn with store-bought cookies all morning."
Finn appears behind him, scandalized. "They have not. I would never."
Malcolm pokes his head around the corner. "I bought Oreos."
Finn gasps. "Monster."
I laugh.
The house is bright. Boxes still stacked in corners, pictures leaning against walls. The furniture is mismatched but cozy—couches that look sat-on, throw blankets, a stack of board games.
It feels lived-in already.
"Kitchen's this way," Finn says. "Prepare yourself. It's chaos."
It's not.
