The thought slips in sideways, uninvited.
His muscled arms flash into my mind, forearms flexing as he spots someone at the bench press. The easy, encouraging smile he gives me after I emerge from class. The way sweat darkens his t-shirt, clinging to his chest, fabric stretched just enough to make my eyes linger longer than they should.
Heat creeps into my cheeks—not embarrassment this time, but something warmer. Something dangerous.
I shove the thought down hard.
Across the table, Eli glances at me.
Not sharply. Not accusingly. Just a soft, instinctive check-in, like he's felt a shift he can't quite name.
I straighten immediately, schooling my expression, forcing my attention back to the cards in my hand. Neutral. Calm. Present.
Nothing to see here.
Eli's gaze lingers for half a second longer, then he nods once and looks back at the table.
My pulse takes too long to settle.
The game carries on around me, voices overlapping, laughter returning in cautious layers. But my focus keeps slipping—back to logistics, to exits, to ways to make myself smaller in the coming chaos.
Marie's heat is coming.
And I realize, with quiet certainty, that I'm already planning how to not be here when it does.
Chapter 26
Dr. Arden rearranges the living room with quiet efficiency.
The couch is pushed back. Chairs are pulled into a loose circle, spaced carefully—close enough for proximity, far enough to avoid crowding. It feels strange seeing the heart of the house stripped down to something so intentional, so clinical.
Arden stands at the edge of it all with a clipboard tucked under one arm, pen resting between his fingers. He looks more like a researcher than a pack doctor right now, eyes sharp, posture relaxed but alert.
His sleeves pull tight when he moves and drags the coffee table, fabric stretching over his shoulders and biceps. The top button of his shirt is undone, throat tanned, forearms roped and bare where he's rolled his cuffs. When he braces one palm on the couch to pivot it, his forearm flexes and the fabric pulls tight over muscle.
Get a grip, Vee. He's an alpha with a clipboard, not a thirst trap. Eyes up. Brain on.
"This isn't about forcing reconnection," he says calmly, straightening up. "Not yet. It's about observing your body's responses. We're gathering information."
I nod, even though my hands are already cold.
I take my seat, spine stiff, feet planted flat on the floor like Arden instructed. My fingers lace together in my lap, knuckles pale. I can feel every alpha in the room without looking at them—the weight of their attention, the careful restraint.
"Jasper first," Arden says.
Jasper straightens immediately.
He approaches slowly, deliberately. He stops a few feet in front of me and extends his hand, palm up, open and nonthreatening.
"May I?"
The question matters more than I expect it to.
I hesitate. My fingers twitch once before I lift my hand and place it in his. There's a faint tremor I can't stop, my pulse racing even though nothing about this feels dangerous.
Jasper's touch is warm but light. No pressure. No claim.
My shoulders ease a fraction without me telling them to.
