His voice is even. Controlled. Alpha-calm dialed in precisely.
"Marie is going through a phase. She's hormonal. Her heat is coming."
The words surprise me.
Her heat?
I blink, my attention snapping fully back. Heat means timelines. It means logistics. It means priorities shifting.
For a brief, shameful second, relief flares in my chest.
The alphas will be distracted.
Focused elsewhere. Busy. Managing Marie. The pressure that's been hovering over me might ease, even if only temporarily.
Then the rest of the thought follows close behind.
Heat means disruption. It means schedules change. It means space gets rearranged again.
I swallow.
Someone at the table murmurs something sympathetic. Someone else nods like this explains everything. The tension loosens just enough to let conversation breathe again.
Ragon gives a short nod and takes his seat.
Drake slides the deck back toward the center. "Alright. Let's pretend we're all emotionally well-adjusted adults and continue."
A couple of weak laughs ripple around the table.
The game resumes.
Cards shuffle. Chips clack. Someone sighs dramatically when they fold.
I force myself to follow along, my hands moving automatically, my mind already skipping ahead.
Marie's heat.
In what? Days? A week? Two, maybe?
I start calculating without meaning to.
Finn's house would be quieter. Safer. He wouldn't ask questions I don't want to answer. I could stay there during the worst of it—give my pack space, give myself distance.
But then—
The gym.
My class schedule flickers through my head. Tuesday and Thursday evenings. I don't have a car.
I'd need a ride.
They'll be stuck in the rut.
My fingers tighten briefly around my chips.
Maybe I could walk part of it. Or take the bus. Or—
Chase.
