And Grandmother watches all of it with that quiet assessment that means she's forming conclusions.
The greenhouse smells like earth and growth and home. My space. My sanctuary. Bringing her here feels vulnerable in ways I wasn't expecting.
She steps inside and goes still.
For a long moment she just... looks. At the neat rows of planters, the organized drying racks, the labeled jars arrangedby property and use. The evidence of everything she taught me, everything her mother taught her, everything passed down through generations of Rowan women.
"You've done well, little one." Her voice catches slightly. "Better than well."
The praise shouldn't make me cry, but it does. "You taught me."
"I taught you technique." She runs her fingers along a lavender plant, testing its health with practiced touch. "But this…" She gestures at the whole space. "This is yours. Your gift. Your calling."
She turns to the pack, still lingering near the door. "Sit. All of you. I want to hear how this happened."
We settle on overturned crates and the bench Calder built, and somehow the greenhouse that always felt spacious suddenly feels intimate. Close. Safe.
The story comes out in pieces. I start, stumbling through nervousness, and the pack fills in details naturally. Calder describes me coming here that first day, voice careful as he admits how immediately he noticed me. Tyler tells her about smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels that turned into something more, sunshine enthusiasm making her smile. Julian explains the moment he realized what we were building, his analytical precision giving weight to emotion.
She listens without interrupting, watching our faces more than hearing our words. When we finish, she's quiet.
"Three is unconventional," I say finally, needing to acknowledgeit.
"So was Asha leaving her education for love." Grandmother's voice is firm. "So was your mother marrying an alpha without pack support. So was me, raising you alone after they died." She looks at each of us in turn. "Rowans choose their own path. Always have."
Relief crashes through me so hard it steals my breath.
"Tradition matters," she continues. "But so does joy. So does choice. So does finding the people who see you clearly and choose you anyway." Her gaze pins me. "Do they bring you joy?"
I look at Calder's fierce protectiveness, Tyler's unwavering warmth, Julian's careful devotion.
"Yes. So much."
"Then that's enough." She stands, brushing dirt from her hands with brisk practicality. "Now show me these blends you've been working on. I want to see if you remembered what I taught you about extraction ratios."
Just like that, we shift to work. Grandmother examines my herb stores with a critical but approving eye, asking questions that test my knowledge, nodding when my answers satisfy her.
The alphas watch this new side of me, the student, the apprentice, the girl who grew up learning medicine at her grandmother's elbow.
"You've refined the sleep blend," she notes, testing a pinch between her fingers. "Less poppy, more passionflower. Good instinct."
"The poppy was too sedating for students." I show her my notes. "They needed something gentler."
"Exactly right." Pride in her voice, warm and certain.
We work through my inventory together, and she offers corrections and praise in equal measure, me drinking in her approval like rain after drought.
Eventually Calder clears his throat. "Ma’am… Mira. Would you stay for dinner? Let us cook for you."
Grandmother turns, surprised. "You cook?"
“Pasta. Nothing fancy.” Calder turns to me. “I promised to show Elowen my apartment. Now seems like the perfect time.”
She smiles and it makes something in my chest ease completely. "I love pasta."
Calder's off-campus apartment is spacious, simply furnished, neat. Walking there, he tells me that he’s been sneaking back to town after we say goodnight, afraid that it would change things if we knew he wasn’t staying in the residence halls.
In the well-equipped kitchen, Calder stands at the stove, Julian chops vegetables with precise efficiency, and Tyler handles the grill on the small balcony. Grandmother watches from the living room, and I know she's seeing what I see, not three separate alphas, but one cohesive unit.
