Not dramatic. Not deserved. Not a lesson.Wrong.
Ragon drags a hand over his face. When he drops it, the ferocity is still there—but something else has crept in too.
Doubt.
"He doesn't know us. He doesn't know me."
"No," Jasper says quietly. "But he knows omegas."
Ragon's eyes flick to me.
I hold his gaze for a moment. Long enough for him to see that whatever leash my instincts used to have on me is gone.
Just a woman on the far end of a couch, measuring whether this is a house she wants to live in.
He looks away first.
"Everyone out. I need a minute."
They go.
I don't.
I stand, smooth my hands on my thighs, and walk past him without touching, without flinching. At the doorway, I pause.
"I'm not broken. He's right about that."
Ragon's shoulders tense.
"But you did break something. Whether you meant to or not."
I leave before he can answer.
In my room, the chair waits. The bed is still empty. Outside, the neighbor's kitchen light glows.
I close the door gently and sit, drawing the blanket over my knees, heart pounding but steady.
For the first time, the question doesn't feel like treason:
What if healing doesn't mean fixing this pack?
What if it means walking away?
Chapter 23
I wake up to yelling.
Not the usual raised-voice, playful-arguing over who drank the last of the coffee. This is full-chested alpha shouting, overlapping, tearing into the quiet like claws through fabric.
For a second I think I'm dreaming, my neck kinked sideways in the chair, green throw tangled around my ankles. Then Ragon roars something wordless and a picture frame rattles on my wall.
Nope. Awake.
My back protests as I unfold out of the chair. The room smells like stale lemon cleaner and the faint ghost of smoke. Still no urge to make a nest. Still nothing in me reaching for blankets.
I crack my door.
The noise hits harder.
