She winces. "I didn't mean—"
"I'm kidding. Eli's obsessed with chamomile. He'll be thrilled if you join his crusade to replace all beverages with warm plant water."
Her lips twitch. "I'll grab some, then."
Drake appears around the corner, arms full of his beloved granola bars. "Found them. The good kind was hiding behind the cardboard."
At checkout, the cashier scans our stuff and gives us that bright, curious smile strangers reserve for people they want to put in a box. Her eyes linger on Drake, then flick between me and Marie.
"You two sisters?"
"No," Marie says at the exact same time I say, "Sister wives."
Marie chokes. Her face goes crimson. Drake nearly drops the bags.
The cashier laughs, a little uncertain now. "Oh. Well. You all have a good one."
I push the cart out without explanation. Marie trails behind me, still half-laughing, half-mortified. Drake catches up, shaking his head.
"Sister wives," he mutters. "You're going to give someone a heart attack one of these days."
"Her assumptions annoy me. Might as well entertain myself."
Marie glances at me. "You're funny."
"Don't tell them. They'll start expecting me to be charming at breakfast."
She smiles. Real, small, fragile.
For a moment, I can almost see a version of this where we could have been friends if the circumstances were different. If she had shown up as someone's cousin, or a temporary houseguest, or literally anything other than "the scent match that rewired my pack."
But reality is what it is.
We load the car. Drake slides into the driver's seat. We drive home.
***
The house smells like them the second we step inside. Eli's gentle warmth, Ragon's heavy pine. Underneath, Marie's sweetness, my sharper floral, all tangled with Drake's citrus that clings to all of us from the car ride.
They're in the living room—Ragon and Eli—looking up when we enter.
Ragon stands, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "Any incidents?"
"Define incidents," Drake says, grinning. "Because she told the cashier they were sister wives."
Eli blinks. Then his mouth twitches.
Ragon's gaze slides to me. "Of course you did."
I shrug. "I refrained from shoving her into the frozen peas. I'd say that's personal growth."
Eli snorts.
A corner of Ragon's mouth twitches despite himself.
"They actually did fine," Drake adds, more seriously. "Got along. No blood drawn."
"I'm proud of you both," he says, and this time he's looking at both of us.
