"Cooking. Gardening. Maybe a fitness class." I keep my eyes on a point slightly left of his. "I don't have a preference. I'd choose something with a fixed schedule and a sign-in. You'd have my itinerary. You could track my location."
I know exactly how to speak his language.
His mouth curves. "You've thought this through."
"Yes, Alpha. I don't want to cause trouble. And it might be good for me to have something structured. Outside the house."
His gaze sweeps over me—my posture, my folded hands, the lack of argument in my voice. Satisfaction warms his scent.
"I'll consider it. We'll need to check vetting on any organization you attend. And transportation. You know I’ll have to assign an alpha to accompany you, but I’m not opposed to going out and having some fun."
"Of course. Thank you."
He nods, already reaching for his pen. "You've been doing better, Verena. Calmer. Less reactive. I'm glad you're accepting the new dynamics. This is the kind of behavior I knew you were capable of."
I keep my face smooth, shoulders loose. Inside, something brittle shifts and goes still.
"Yes, Alpha. I understand my place better now."
He smiles, small and satisfied, and bends back over the paperwork.
Dismissed.
I turn to go, and my gaze catches on a frame on the edge of his desk.
It's a photo from three summers ago. Before Marie. Before Jasper.
We're on the back patio, all four of us. Drake's got a beer bottle balanced on his knee, mid-laugh. Eli's half-turned toward me, glasses crooked, lips parted like he's about to say something. I'm in the middle, barefoot, hair a mess, flour on my shirt, leaning into Ragon's side as he looks down at me with his rare, soft almost-smile.
His hand's in my hair. Fingers threaded in like it's the most natural thing in the world.
For a second, my throat goes tight.
I smooth it out.
"Good night, Alpha."
He grunts without looking up.
I close the door with a careful click.
My room is dim and smells like lemon cleaner and nothing else.
The bed is made—sheets stretched tight, pillows plain. I skirt around it like it's a hole in the floor and sink into the wingback chair instead, tucking my feet up. The cushion remembers the curve of my body better than the mattress does now.
Outside the window, the neighboring house glows with warm yellow light. Finn's silhouette passes through the kitchen, arms waving, head thrown back, probablylaughing at his own joke while Alex pretends not to smile and Malcolm pretends not to roll his eyes.
I sit there for a long time, watching their shadows move together.
My phone buzzes like he knew I was thinking of them.
Finn:We made tea. And cookies. Your recipe. Come help us not eat them all.
I stare at the screen.
Finn:Door's open. No pressure. ...Okay, a little pressure. It's chocolate chip.
The corner of my mouth twitches.
