Arden doesn't let it go.
"It can make alphas biased. It can make them prioritize without noticing. That's why structure exists. To protect against instinct-driven harm."
My mouth twists. "So I'm collateral."
Arden's eyes hold mine. "No. You're a person who wastreatedlike collateral."
The difference matters.
It shouldn't, but it does.
He lets the silence settle, then asks, softly, "Tell me what you believed about yourself when she arrived."
The answer rises like bile.
"That if I was perfect, they'd keep me," I whisper.
"Perfect how?"
"Quiet. Useful. Pretty. Sweet. Grateful. Never demanding. Never jealous. Never—" My voice cracks. "Never a problem."
Arden's pen stops moving entirely.
"And when you couldn't be perfect, what happened?"
My pulse ticks once, hard.
"I was punished," I say, flat.
"And what did your body learn from that punishment?"
My hands tighten around Jasper's shirt unconsciously. "That nothing is mine. Not even my safe places. Not even my nest."
Arden's expression shifts—controlled horror, then professional calm.
"That is why your nesting instincts shut down."
I don't look away.
"You didn't stop being an omega. You stopped trusting."
The words hit so cleanly it almost hurts.
Because it means the omega part of me really is still there. Just buried.
Arden sits back and exhales slowly. "Okay. We have data. We have context. We have a direction."
He reaches into his bag again and pulls out a large t-shirt, folded neatly. Plain. Soft. Oversized.
He holds it out.
"This is for you."
I hesitate. "Why?"
"Because I want to test something. And because you need neutral comfort. Something your body can accept without being dragged into a specific memory."
I take it.
