"Daphne." Viola's voice pulled me back to the present. Her thumb was tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand. "Where did you go just now?"
"Nowhere." Everywhere. The past. The long, painful road that had led me here, to this moment, to a life I'd built specifically to avoid ever being hurt again. "I was just... remembering."
"Remembering what?" She asked softly, eyes full of compassion.
I pulled my hand back, wrapping both palms around my coffee mug like it could anchor me. "When I was a kid—in foster care—I used to... do things. Build forts. Rearrange furniture. Organize things. I thought it was just me being weird. Being difficult." I swallowed hard. "The foster parents always made me stop. Said I was making messes, overstepping, acting like I owned the place when I didn't."
Viola's expression shifted into something soft and sad. "Oh, honey."
"So I stopped. I learned not to do it. Not to want it. Not to—" My voice broke. "Not to make space for myself anywhere, because every time I did, someone took it away."
"And now it's coming back." The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. I wanted to deny it. Wanted to insist that last night was a fluke, a one-time aberration, meaningless. I couldn't…because even as I sat here, part of my brain was cataloging Viola's home—the stack of books that would be more stable if rotated ninety degrees, the throw pillowsthat would look better on the other end of the couch, the kitchen towel hanging crooked from its hook.
I wanted to fix it. All of it. I wanted to make itright.
"I don't understand," I whispered. "Why now? I've been fine for years. I've beenfine."
"Have you?" Viola asked gently. "Or have you just been surviving?" The question cut deeper than she probably intended. I thought about my cabin, my careful routines, my structured days and solitary nights. I thought about the walls I'd built, the people I'd kept at a distance, the life I'd constructed specifically to minimize risk and maximize control.
Surviving. Yes. That's exactly what I'd been doing.
"Something's changed," Viola continued. "Something's made you feel safe enough to let this part of yourself wake up again. And I have a pretty good guess what—or who—that something is."
The pack. She meant the pack. I thought about Sunday dinner at their house. The coat hook by the door. The way they'd made space for me without being asked, without expectation, just... hoping I might fill it. I thought about the throw pillows on their sofa, the inexplicable urge to rearrange them, the panic that had sent me fleeing outside before anyone could notice.
I thought about Levi's kiss. About the way he'd saidtogetherlike it was a promise. About the feeling of his arms around me, his hands in my hair, his voice in my ear telling me that this was exactly okay, that they were grateful, that all they wanted was for me to let them in.
"I'm scared," I admitted, and the confession tore something open in my chest. "I'm so scared, Viola. Because if I let myself want this—if I let myselfhavethis—and then I lose it?—"
"You'll survive," Viola said firmly. "You've survived everything else life has thrown at you. But Daphne..." She leaned forward, her eyes fierce. "Survival isn't the same as living. Atsome point, you have to decide if you want to just survive, or if you're ready to actuallylive."
I didn't have an answer. I wasn't sure I even understood the question. But somewhere deep inside, beneath the fear and the doubt and the decades of careful self-protection, something was stirring. Something that wanted to rearrange furniture and fold towels and plant gardens in soil that someone else owned. Something that wanted to make a home, a real home, in a space that might actually let me stay.
I stayed at Viola's until nearly noon, talking and crying and drinking too much coffee. She told me about nesting, real information, not the vague references I'd absorbed from a lifetime of trying not to think about it. How it was an instinct as natural as breathing for omegas. How it manifested differently for everyone but usually involved creating safe, comfortable spaces. How suppressing it for too long could lead to anxiety, restlessness, a persistent feeling of being unsettled in your own skin.
All things I recognized. All things I'd been experiencing for years without knowing what they meant.
"It's going to get stronger," Viola warned. "Especially if you keep seeing the pack. Being around potential mates—alphas who make you feel safe—triggers the instinct. Your omega knows what it wants, even if the rest of you isn't ready to admit it."
My omega. I'd never thought of it that way, as something separate, something with its own wants and needs. I'd spent so long trying to be normal—or at least to pass as normal—that I'd almost forgotten I wasn't. That there was this whole other part of me, buried but not gone, waiting for permission to emerge.
The drive home was quiet, my mind too full for music. I passed the turnoff to the pack's property and felt a pull so strong it was almost physical…a yearning to turn the wheel, to drive up their gravel road, to walk through their front door andfix things.The pillows. The blankets. The spaces that didn't feel quite right but could, with just a little adjustment.
I kept driving. Back at my cabin, I stood in the doorway and looked at my home with new eyes. Everything was exactly as I'd left it this morning—which meant everything was exactly as I'd rearranged it last night. The kitchen gleamed. The pantry was organized by category and then by expiration date. The linen closet was a masterwork of efficiency and color coordination.
It looked like a nest. My nest. The one I'd been building without realizing it. It felt incomplete somehow. Empty. Like I'd built the structure but forgotten to fill it with life.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Then again. Then three more times in quick succession.
I pulled it out, already knowing what I'd find.
Levi: How are you feeling today? Still thinking about those kisses. Just saying.
Oliver: I hope you slept well. Let me know if you need anything.
Garrett: Made too much chili for dinner. Want me to bring some by?
Micah: The forecast shows clear skies tonight. Optimal conditions for viewing Jupiter's moons if you're interested.
