Page 25 of What We Don't Say: Part One

My hand lifts halfway toward my cardigan, then drops when Andrea shifts beside me.Open door. Chair near the hall. No one blocking the way back out.I look at Idris again, and he looks at the tea tray instead, giving me somewhere else to put my eyes.

Then the softer scent moves. The woman near the lamp shifts in her chair angled slightly away from the center of the room, her cardigan sleeves falling over the heels of her hands, honey-blonde hair pulled back with loose pieces near her cheeks. Hazel-green eyes meet mine for one careful second, then lower to her own lap. Honeyed pear and vanilla tea settle under the Alpha scents, warm and close and easier to breathe through.

“I’m Calliope,” she says softly. “You don’t have to answer me.”

My breath catches in my chest as I stare at her, my body leaning toward her. The Center always taught us that we’d gravitate toward Alphas first, that our forever pack would give us solace with those who could protect us the most.

But in this moment, all I want is the pretty Beta in front of me.

“Hi,” I whisper.

Andrea inhales beside me. My face goes hot as I realize I didn’t greet the Alphas first. A small whine pulls from my lips as I step back, waiting for the punishment or correction when Calliope just smiles, a small thing that seems to light up the entire room.

“Hi, Theo,” she offers back, the soft tone of her voice soothing my panic.

The way she says my name settles somewhere low in my chest, soft enough that my fingers stop digging into my thighs. I look down at my hands and press them flat, keeping them visible, keeping them still, while Garrett moves farther into the room. Sloane’s attention flicks to him, Idris’s gaze lifts from the tea tray, and Calliope’s fingers curl once against her cardigan before settling again in her lap.

“We kept the first visit light,” Garrett says. “Tea, time to settle, and a short look around if you want one. There’s a roomprepared for you upstairs, but no one will ask you to inspect it today.” A room prepared for me. Sheets chosen. Lights checked. Blanket weight approved. Another place I can stand in the middle of and fail to use correctly. My fingers find the hem of my sweater, and Andrea’s head turns. I pull my hand back down before she says anything.

“The sofa might be a good start,” Andrea says, her voice going soft enough to make my face heat. “You can choose either end, Theo. Or the chair closest to the doorway.” I look at the sofa, then the chair, then Garrett beside the low table, Sloane on the sofa arm, Idris near the window, and Andrea at my shoulder with the tablet hugged to her chest. Calliope looks down at her own hands, and my lungs loosen enough for one step.

I move toward the chair by the doorway, then stop halfway there. The space beside Calliope’s chair is smaller, narrow, barely a place to stand at all, but my feet take me there in slow, careful steps while my pulse climbs higher with each one. Andrea’s breath changes behind me. I hear the tiny shift of her shoes, the almost-correction waiting, and my stomach drops. I’ve gone to the wrong place, and my hand lifts before I can fix it.

My fingers catch the edge of Calliope’s sleeve, soft fabric worn thin at the cuff and warm from her skin. I hold it lightly at first, then tighter when my hand starts to shake. Andrea makes a quiet sound behind me. “Theo,” she says, and I let go.

Calliope doesn’t move away. Her hand stays loose in her lap, sleeve still close enough that the fabric brushes my knuckle. Garrett speaks before Andrea can finish. “That’s all right,” he says, voice calm. When I look up, he's watching my face instead of my hand. “We’re not worried about that.”

Andrea’s mouth closes. Sloane’s scent warms, brown sugar rising under the softened cedar as he rests his forearms on his knees, hands open where I can see them. “She’s easy to like,” he says, quieter than before, and Calliope’s cheeks turn pink. Shestill doesn’t pull her sleeve away, so I touch the cuff again with just the side of one finger.

Idris shifts near the window, and my gaze snaps to him. He stops at once, one hand half-lifted toward the tea tray. “I was going to pour,” he says. “Would you rather I leave it for now?” The question is small enough to answer. My mouth doesn’t open, but I manage to shake my head. “Tea, then,” he says, and picks up the pot without coming any closer to me.

Andrea’s tablet gives a soft click as the screen wakes. I hear it even over the blood rushing in my ears, and my fingers leave Calliope’s sleeve to curl against my palm. Calliope sees the movement. She doesn’t ask me what’s wrong or make me look at her. Her hand leaves her lap and settles on the cushion beside my knee, palm turned up.

I stare at her hand. Short nails. Soft palm. A faint smudge of flour near her thumb. Andrea has a chart for this. She showed me the blue line between comfort and attachment on Wednesday, her yellow mug cooling beside the paper while I nodded like the difference made sense. Calliope’s fingers stay open, and after another breath, I place two fingers in her palm.

She waits until my fingers curl first, then holds me lightly enough that I can leave. My eyes burn, and I look at the tea tray until the silver edge blurs. “There’s tea in the kitchen,” Calliope says, her voice low enough for the small space between us. “I also made lemon bars. Your file said you liked lemon desserts, but files get things wrong sometimes.”

My mouth opens.Lemon.I like lemon.I like sour enough to make my jaw ache, something bright after the Center’s oatmeal and soft bread and over-sweet tea. I want to tell her that. I want one answer to come easy after she gave me room for it, but the sound folds up behind my teeth.

Calliope’s thumb shifts once near my knuckles. “You can nod,” she says, and I nod too fast.

Sloane smiles, then catches himself before it gets too big, his hands staying open on his knees. “I’ll stay behind you,” he says. “Far enough back that you’ve got room.”

Idris sets the teapot down. “I’ll bring the tray and keep to the other side.”

Garrett looks to Andrea and says, “We’ll let Theo set the pace,” and Andrea’s tablet lowers by an inch as she answers, “Of course.”

Calliope starts to stand, and my fingers clamp around hers. She stops immediately. My grip is too tight. I can feel it in the stiff shape of my hand and the way her skin presses against mine. I loosen one finger, then another, while my face burns hotter. Calliope waits until I manage it.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, and I nod, unable to make my mouth work. “Okay,” she says. “We’ll go together.”

Andrea shifts beside me, her sweater brushing the tablet case. “Gentle hands, Theo.” My grip goes loose at once, but Calliope turns her hand under mine before I can pull away completely, catching my fingers without trapping them.

“This is gentle,” she says, looking toward Andrea with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’re okay.”

Garrett steps slightly aside to clear the path. “Calliope knows the kitchen best,” he says. “You can stay with her.” I look at him long enough to see the faint warmth in his expression, and my fingers loosen around Calliope’s before I can stop them.

Calliope walks beside me instead of ahead of me. Her hand stays in mine, and I keep my fingers light even when the hallway widens and the house pulls farther away on both sides. The Alphas follow at a distance, close enough that I know where they are without any of them pressing nearer.