"Verena. Here."
It takes effort to make my feet move.
I stop a few feet away, body angled, every instinct screaming for Eli even though Eli is down the hall with Marie.
"I didn't start it," I say, voice shaking. "She—"
"You attacked your packmate in public. You drew blood. You made a scene that could have someone calling the registry about us."
"She called me second-hand. She said you had to fix me. Again."
His jaw flexes. "Words are not claws. You do not get to answer one with the other."
"She meant it. You heard her. Everybody heard her."
"I heard an omega whose instincts are tangled in ways we haven't untangled yet. I heard fear. I heard insecurity. I did not hear a threat worth the response you chose."
"She said I was returned. Like I'm a defective appliance you bought on clearance."
His eyes flash. "And you proved you can't control yourself in public. Do you think that helps my argument when the registry asks whether you're stable?"
It feels like he hit me.
I stumble back a step.
Jasper shifts his weight. He still doesn't speak. But there's something in his eyes now that looks a lot likeand there it is.
"I'm going to correct this," Ragon says. "Hard."
Fear slams into me. "Ragon. Please. I know I messed up. I know. But please, not—"
But Ragon’s expression tells me he’s made up his mind. There’s no arguing with that look, not when he’s deep in alpha mode and every cell in my body reads the command as final.
I barely hear anything except my own pulse thrumming, fast and high. He points to the middle of the living room—the bare spot where the hardwood is scuffed from years of heavy boots and furniture.
“Kneel. Right there. Back straight. Hands palm down on your thighs."
I do it.
The wood bites into my kneecaps like teeth. My thin leggings might as well be tissue paper. Every heartbeat pulses against the floor.
The first few minutes are bearable. Then the pain starts—not gradual but a sudden, vicious bloom that radiates up my spine. My muscles scream when I try to shift even a millimeter. I can't. I'm not allowed to twitch. To breathe too deeply. To exist beyond this point of agony.
No one looks at me. No one speaks. I am furniture. Less than furniture.
Drake slinks into the kitchen, eyes huge, and flinches away from my gaze. Marie passes through once, the scratch on her cheek a bright accusation. Jasper watches from the shadows, arms folded, face unreadable stone.
Time doesn't just crawl—it splinters. Fragments of eternity lodge under my skin. My thighs tremble uncontrollably. My lower back seizes. Sweat trickles down my spine, but I don't dare wipe it away. The numbness in my knees gives way to needles, then to fire, then to nothing at all. I can't feel them anymore. I can't feel anything except shame burning holes through my chest.
At midnight—six hours later—Ragon's voice slices through the silence. "You can get up now."
Instinct surges.
Turn. Crawl. Find Eli.
I pivot, body already angling toward his room.
Ragon steps into my path.
