I clench my jaw. "I'm not going to touch her nest."
"Rule four: Neither omega undermines the other. You don't speak for each other. You don't speak over each other. You don't intentionally provoke each other."
"Our job is to protect both of you," Eli adds quietly. "Not watch you tear each other apart because your fear keeps coming out sideways."
I look up at him. His green eyes are tired and kind and a little sad.
Ragon continues. "You also don't undermine us. If an alpha gives a reasonable instruction, you follow it. We can discuss later. We don't argue about safety in the moment."
My spine bristles. "Define reasonable."
"Not leaving the house alone. Not baiting the other omega into a meltdown. Not verbally shredding Drake when he's trying to de-escalate a situation, for example."
My face burns. "I didn't—"
"You did," Drake says softly.
I flinch.
Ragon's gaze doesn't waver. "You are not being punished for having feelings. But you are responsible for what you do with them."
"Feels like the same thing."
He gets up.
He moves slowly, deliberately, but he's still too big, too solid. He stops in front of me and crouches down so we're on the same level (or closer anyway), his forearms resting on his knees. Up close, his scent is stronger—pine smoke, faint citrus, something darker underneath that has always made my instincts purr when I let them.
"Look at me."
I do. I can't not.
He lifts his hand and takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, firm enough that I feel the command in it but not so hard it hurts. The calluses on his fingers are rough against my skin.
"You are not disposable. Not even a little bit. You were not 'outed' in front of Marie so she would know you're easy to replace. Drake made a mistake with timing, not content. Do you understand the difference?"
The words hit an exposed nerve. Tears sting my eyes before I can swallow them back.
"I guess."
His grip tightens just a fraction, drawing my gaze back when it tries to slip away. "Not guess. Understand."
It's not just words. My body recognizes the cadence, the tone. My omega instincts push against my resistance, urging compliance, craving the structure.
Humiliation prickles against relief.
"I understand."
His hand lingers a heartbeat longer, then lets go. The ghost of his touch stays on my skin.
"Good. Then we can move forward."
He straightens, dominance rolling back like a tide. The air feels lighter. My muscles unclench slowly.
Marie is watching me with wide eyes. There's no gloating there. Just observation. Maybe empathy. Maybe envy at the familiarity in that kind of correction.
I look away first.
Ragon glances at Drake. "Grocery list?"
