I move slowly, basket hooked over my arm, careful not to bruise the leaves I collect. Mugwort near the bank, young, clean, not yet bitter. Yarrow closer to the tree line, pale and delicate. I take only what I need.
Mira taught me early: harvesting is a conversation, not a demand.
When I return to my room, I spread the herbs on clean cloth near the window, letting the breeze do its work.
My workspace has grown over the weeks, a small shelf I cleared beside the window now holds glass jars in neat rows, each labeled in pencil. Mortar and pestle sit to the left, the stone worn smooth from Mira's hands before mine. A wooden drying rack I built from scrap holds bundles of rosemary and thyme, their scent mingling with the fresh mugwort I'm laying flat to dry.
The routine steadies me. I grind dried chamomile petals in the mortar, testing the texture between my fingers. Not too fine. It needs to breathe. The sound of stone on stone fills the room, rhythmic and grounding.
Sunlight catches the jars, amber glass for light-sensitive herbs, clear for those that don't mind. Everything organized by use: calming, cleansing, strengthening. Mira's system, adapted to this smaller space.
By the time I leave for the library, my hands smell faintly of green and citrus, the scent layered into my skin reminding me of my grandmother.
I'm locking my door when Lila's voice carries down the hall. "Hey, you got a second?"
She's leaning against her doorframe, wearing a forest green cardigan over pajama pants, hair down and wavy.
She steps closer, voice dropping. "Your scent's different today." She noticed too. "It’s warmer. I wanted to check if you were, you know… prepared."
I chew my bottom lip. "I've been blending chamomile and fennel. For the cramps."
"Okay. Good." She tucks her hair behind her ear. "The academy has really good heat support. Private suites, omega attendants if you want them, no questions asked. Ms. Hartley handles it."
"I'll remember that."
Lila studies me for a moment. "Are you… I mean, do you have anyone in mind? For this?"
"I have options," I say carefully, my pulse racing when I think about the three alphas who already noticed.
Her mouth quirks. "I bet you do." Then, more seriously, “It's a lot of attention. Good attention, maybe. But still. A lot. And heat makes everything more intense."
“Have you…” I begin. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you have choices." She reaches out, squeezes my hand. "Me. Seraphina. Other omegas if that’s what you want."
Something loosens in my chest. I’ve been so consumed by the greenhouse and Olivia getting sick that I’ve kept Lila at arm’s length when maybe I should’ve let her in a little more.
"If you want someone to check on you," she adds, "someone who's notthem, I'm available. No judgment. No agenda. Just... omega to omega."
"Thank you," I say quietly.
She steps back toward her room. "Also, for what it's worth, half the omegas on campus are jealous and the other half are taking notes. And I heard that Sophie is dating Ben Travers now, so she’s obviously forgotten her threat about making your life hell." She giggles. “See you in the library for the meeting with Professor Robbins.”
She disappears into her room, leaving me standing in the hallway.
Three alphas. Heat coming. And, if Lila is right, which she normally is, Sophie has lost interest in Calder.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply. I’m ready for this.
Inside the library, the air is cool and hushed, layered with the scent of old paper and polish. Sunlight filters through tall windows, catching dust motesmid-drift.
I take my usual seat near the back, close to the reference shelves. A stack of books waits for me: British Isles herbal compendiums, marginalia-heavy and well-loved. I open one, scanning sketches of valerian root and feverfew leaves.
"This illustration's wrong." The voice is low. Precise.
Julian stands a respectful distance away, book tucked under one arm. He's dressed in a slate sweater today, pressed trousers, hair neat. His pale blue eyes shift from the page I'm reading to my face.
"The leaf serration is exaggerated," he continues, nodding toward my book. "That species doesn't grow like that in this climate."
