“That’s it?” she asks. “You just saypackand they back off?”
“We have a clear territory. The north valley pack respects borders.”
“And I’m inside your border?”
“Yes.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Throwing rings. I count three clean landings without looking like I’m counting.
“I didn’t agree to be inside the border,” she says.
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“It keeps being relevant.” I look at her then, because I’m done looking at the ring toss. She meets my gaze. She always meets it, which is the thing I have never been able to fully account for, the way she doesn’t flinch from direct attention when most people,most Omegas especially, have an instinct toward deflection. She just looks back. Straight and real. “You’re here. Inside the territory. That’s what the border means.”
“You can’t just—”
“I’m not claiming anything,” I say. “I’m stating a fact. You’re here. We’re here. That means something, regardless of the paperwork.”
A noise escapes her that is either protest or reluctant acknowledgment. “That’s very convenient reasoning.”
“It’s practical reasoning.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“They’re not always different either.”
She looks at the rings in her hand. Then at the bottle arrangement. She adjusts her angle and throws. It lands on the center bottle. Perfect. She picks up the last ring.
“Archer?” she says.
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
I nod.
She throws the last ring.
We stay at the counter.
This is not planned. We’ve handled the situation, she’s finished her throws, there’s no operational reason to remain at the ring toss counter. Yet neither of us moves and the game alley continues in all directions around us.
“The guitar,” she says, eventually.
I look at her.
“Last Saturday. I didn’t know you were going to play. I didn’t know you did that publicly.”
“It’s not…” I stop. “It’s something I’ve always done. I enjoy it.”
“It was really cool. You’re different than I thought you were.”
“You thought I was a threat assessment with legs.”
Her lips twitch slightly. “You introduced yourself that way.”
