She fidgets with a napkin. Her scent is tense, frayed.
"You okay? You look like you might bolt."
"I'm fine." Then, quieter, "They all knew your order without asking."
I blink. "We come here a lot."
"I know. I just— It's obvious you have history. Here. Everywhere. With them."
"Yeah. We've been together a while."
"I'm trying," she blurts. "To fit. To not take things. To not replace."
I look at her, really look, at the way her shoulders are trying to fold in on themselves. "I know you are. No one thinks you're not."
She huffs out a breath. "Sometimes it feels like you do."
Her words scrape like a dull knife against the soft parts of me.
"Sometimes it feels like you're mad at me for existing," she continues. "Like you think if I weren't here, everything would go back to normal."
"Wouldn't it?" I ask before I can stop myself.
Her eyes flash. "Normal for who? For you? For them? They wanted a scent match. They wanted another omega. They wantedme.Theyaskedme to come with them."
The barista slides two drinks toward us with a wary glance. The tension is obvious.
I force a smile for her benefit, then step aside.
Marie lowers her voice. "I know I'm the new one. I know you have all this history. But I'm tired of feeling like I'm only allowed to exist in the spaces you're not using."
My hackles go up. "Welcome to my life the last few months. You think it's fun watching everyone build new rituals around you while mine get dismantled in slow motion?"
Her jaw tightens. "You think you're the only one who's scared?"
"No. I think I'm the only one who's being told to swallow it quietly."
She laughs then, harsh and humorless. "You? Quiet? You cling. You bait. You make sure everyone knows you were here first."
"That's not—"
"You're the one they had to fix rules for. They had to make schedules and charts and rotations because you couldn't handle sharing. You're like some—some second-hand omega they're trying to refurbish so you don't break again."
The words hit me in the face.
Second-hand omega.
The bakery goes silent in my ears. The world tunnels down to the narrow space between us and the wet sound of my own heart beating too fast.
"I'm sorry," she says immediately, eyes wide. "I didn't—"
"You did. You meant it enough to say it."
"You're an omega someone else returned," she continues, because she can't stop now. "You think that doesn't scare me? You think I'm not terrified of doing something wrong and ending up—"
"Say that again," I whisper.
Her mouth snaps shut.
