We get to cleaning supplies.
I reach for the laundry detergent we always used—unscented, gentle, doesn't fight with anyone's natural smell.
Marie makes a soft noise.
"Not that one. It doesn't hold scent well. They all smell better in this."
She picks up a heavily scented brand, something floral-fruity that makes my nose wrinkle.
"It's too strong."
"No, it's perfect. I can smell it on Ragon's shirts all day. It blends with his scent." She smiles, dreamy for a second. "You should have noticed."
I feel suddenly, violently ill.
"I did notice."
She shrugs. "I guess it's harder for you. Not being their scent match. You can't understand what they need on the same level I can. It's not your fault."
There it is.
The knife under the smile.
Not your fault.
You're just lesser.
My mouth opens.
Something hot and sharp floods my chest, all the snark and spite and pain looking for a way out.
I could say,I've been their omega for years and you've been here for months.I could say,No registry pamphlet is going to tell me what Eli needs when he's two seconds from burning out. I could say,You didn't even know Ragon liked lemon in his tea until I told you.
I could say all of that.
My eyes flick down the aisle.
Ragon has paused at the end.
He's not pretending to read labels anymore.
He's just watching.
Waiting.
My tongue remembers the taste of the wordkneel.
I swallow everything else instead.
"Whatever you want. You're the scent match."
Her expression softens, like I've finally said something reasonable. "We're all on the same team, Vee. I'm just trying to make things smoother."
Drake, who's been hovering awkwardly between us like a human tennis ball, tries to lob a joke into the tension.
"Hey now," he says, picking up a random bottle. "As long as it gets my scrubs clean, I'll wear anything. Flowers, fruit, industrial-strength 'ocean breeze.'" He wiggles his brows. "I am equal-opportunity soapy."
I try to smile.
