We're bickering. It's almost normal.
We wander.
Giraffes. Elephants. A tiger that looks like he knows exactly how trapped he is and hates us all for existing.
I drift at the edge of the group, close enough to be counted, far enough that I'm not an obstacle to Marie's orbit.
She clings.
To Drake, mostly, but she's not shy about wrapping herself around Ragon's arm either, leaning into Eli's side when he says something soft. She's still prickly with me—polite, but with a thin film of something sour whenever our shoulders brush.
I get it.
She's still reeling from the bonding conversation.
I'm still reeling from the idea that someone would want to permanently mark me.
We're both walking around with raw edges.
Hers cut outward more often.
Lunch is worse.
We hit the outdoor food court between the big cat section and the primate house. It's crowded—families, strollers, packs doing weekend bonding.
The tables are mostly full.
Ragon scouts ahead, scanning for a decent spot. He finds one by the railing: one of those long picnic tables bolted into the concrete, room for maybe six if everyone squeezes.
One end is occupied by a mom and two kids decimating a plate of fries. The other has four open spots... and a single empty space on the far bench.
We split.
Ragon sits at the head. Eli takes the spot beside him; Drake slides in opposite, grinning as he elbows Ragon and steals his pickle.
That leaves the open seat at the end of Drake's side, near the kids.
I step toward it automatically, balancing my tray.
Marie gets there first.
She doesn't sit.
She puts her bag down.
Right in the middle of the only available space.
Not a casual drop, either.
A deliberate placing.
"Oh," she says, looking up at Ragon with wide eyes. "Is there enough room?"
He glances at the table, then us.
"We can make some. Vee, you can—"
"It's fine," I say quickly, heat already crawling up my neck. "I'll find somewhere else."
