Marie's door is open a fraction. I can see a slice of her room: soft light, the edge of her new nest, blankets piled like a cloud. Drake is sitting on the floor beside it, back against her bed, legs stretched out. Marie is half-curled toward him in the nest itself, hugging a pillow to her chest.
He says something I can't hear.
She laughs, then reaches out and lightly touches his hair, smoothing a curl back behind his ear. The move is tentative but intimate. Familiar.
He leans his head into her fingers for a second without thinking, like that kind of touch already belongs to her.
My hands curl into fists.
Ragon walks by with a mug of tea. He pauses, glances into Marie's room, assesses, and then nods once, satisfied.
He doesn't glance toward my open door.
He doesn't see me watching.
I shut it quietly before anyone notices.
Later, when Drake comes into the kitchen for water and finds me standing at the sink doing nothing at all, he startles.
"Jesus. You scared me. Why are you lurking in the dark like a Victorian ghost?"
"Practicing."
"For haunting?" He grins, leaning on the counter. "Ten out of ten, very eerie. A+."
I shrug. "Thought I'd give you a preview of what you'll be dealing with next time you forget one of your omegas exists."
His smile falters.
"You were very cozy in there. You and Marie. Nice little scene. Should I start leaving you guys snacks outside the door? Maybe a do-not-disturb sign?"
"Oh, come on." Exasperation and guilt tangle in his scent. "We were talking. She had a nightmare. I was calming her down."
"She had a nightmare, so you sat on the floor and let her pet your hair like a therapy dog."
He drags a hand through his curls. "Can you maybe not turn everything into a weapon, please?"
"Can you maybe not make everything look like I've already been replaced?"
His jaw tightens. "That is not what's happening."
"Feels like it."
"Feelings are not—"
"If you finish that sentence, I swear to god, I'll scream."
He closeshis mouth.
Something ugly and sharp pushes up from my chest, and before I can stop it, it spills out.
"I hope you're getting enough practice being needed. So when she's settled, you won't miss me too much when I'm gone."
The hurt that flashes across his face is immediate and raw. His scent spikes—pain, anger, fear.
"Stop it. You don't get to pretend we're going to just drop you off somewhere and drive away. We're not your first pack."
"Maybe you'll get a two-for-one deal," I say, the worst parts of me on autopilot now. "Since you keep collecting omegas."
