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It’s not the new space. Not the change of scenery, or Liv’s relentless pushing to get us working again.

It’s her.

Eviana. Evie. The omega.Ouromega.

Something about her has cracked us open…or maybe stitched us back together…whether she knows it or not. And for the first time in too damn long, we’re playing like we mean it.

EVIANA

Iwake up with the expectation of them.

It’s ridiculous, really. I barely know them. I don’t want to know them.

And yet, from the moment my eyes flutter open, my body tenses, preparing for something that doesn’t come.

No heavy knocks on the door. No deep voices carrying through the morning air. No alphas stepping onto my porch like they belong here, like they belongtome.

I stay in bed longer than I should, cocooned under my musty attic blanket, letting the disappointment seep in, even though I have no right to feel it. It’s better this way. Isn’t it?

I tell myself it is.

But my omega doesn’t believe me.

The part of me I’ve spent my whole life ignoring stirs restlessly, discontented, uneasy with the absence of something – someone – it only just started to acknowledge. She doesn’t understand why they’re not here, why they haven’t come back.

Because yesterday, when they left, I felt it. That tension in the air, thick and crackling, like a promise unspoken. I expected them to return at first light, to push back against the boundaries I keep trying to set.

Instead, the morning stretches out in silence.

I force myself to get up, to keep moving. I go through the motions – shower, dress, eat something small – but I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing.

I check the window, looking out toward the path that leads down to the lane.

Nothing.

I scowl at my reflection in the glass. This is agoodthing. I should be relieved. They’re not coming back today.

So why does it feel like I’m waiting?

By mid-afternoon, I’ve convinced myself to stop thinking about them.

Mostly.

I distract myself by cleaning, working through every room with unnecessary focus. I reorganise the cupboards, even though they don’t need it. I scrub down the kitchen surfaces, even though they’re already spotless. I do everything I can to move on.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop my thoughts from looping back to them.

To Blaise, whose presence is so sharp and overwhelming that I can still feel the ghost of his sparkling stare and teasing grin. To Xar, whose quiet steadiness settled something deep in my chest. To Dane, who watched me like he was trying to piece together a puzzle only he could see.

I wrap my arms around myself, shaking my head. This is ridiculous.

They don’t even know me. I don’t know them.

And I don’t want to.

I repeat that last part like a mantra, willing myself to believe it. But then the doorbell rings, and my heart leaps before I can stop it.

I hate how fast I move to answer it, how breathless I feel when I pull the door open.