Drake's scent darkens with anger. Eli's jaw clenches. Ragon's eyes go flinty.
"How old were you?"
"Eighteen when the meetings started. Nineteen when I finally signed with a pack." She swallows. "It didn't go well."
My heart stutters. "They hurt you."
Her fingers tighten around the mug. "They didn't hit me. Not like that. They just didn't want me. They wanted the idea of an omega. Someone pliant and grateful who would be so thrilled to be chosen that she wouldn't notice how little they did in return."
My throat closes.
I know this story. Different set dressing, same stage.
"They said I was too sensitive. Too clingy. Too useless outside the house. I tried to do everything right. But they never wanted to hold me. Never wanted to make a nest with me. They wanted a status symbol. Eventually they gave me three choices: find another pack myself, go back to my parents, or register."
The word hangs in the air like a curse.
My skin prickles.
"You chose the registry," Eli says gently.
She nods. "I stayed there for months. Long enough to realize I couldn't breathe. Too loud, too many scents, too many people looking at me like I was a listing." A bitter smile pulls at her mouth. "I requested a private room, which they barely granted. Started working in their kitchen just to have something that felt like mine. Every day I watched omegas leave with new packs and thought—maybe being here forever would be better than being someone's breeding prize."
Part of me respects her for that.
Another part curls with jealousy that she got the choice.
"And then you got into a fender bender and yelled at me when I tried to examine your wrist."
She huffs a real laugh. "You grabbed me without warning."
"I apologized!"
"Later."
"Slow learner," Eli murmurs.
"I'm right here."
Despite myself, I snort.
Marie's gaze catches mine at the sound. For a split second, something like camaraderie flickers there. Shared understanding of idiot alphas.
I look away.
"And you?" she asks after a moment. "What about you guys? I know some things from your file, but that's clinical. Not real."
Drake perks up, eager to shift attention. "Well, I'm obviously the handsome one—"
"You're the loud one."
"Loud and handsome."
Ragon shakes his head, but his scent loosens. "Drake is an ER nurse. Eli's a physician. I'm a contractor. We met through work and mutual friends."
"That's the boring version," Drake says. "The real version is Eli patched me up after I tried to break up a fight in the waiting room, and Ragon nearly threw a guy through a wall for shoving a pregnant omega."
Her eyes widen. "Did he?"
