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"That would be perfect," Felix says before either Theo or I can decline, settling into the space like he belongs there. He sets the package of cookies on the small dining table with deliberate care. "I brought these from Murphy's. I remembered you used to like them."

"You remembered that?" she asks, and there's something vulnerable in her voice that makes me want to hunt down everyone who's ever made her feel forgotten.

"We remember everything about you," Theo says with the kind of intensity that made him effective in interrogations. "That's actually why we're here."

As Seraphina busies herself with tea preparation, I take the opportunity to really examine her living space. It's comfortable but sterile, like a well-appointed prison cell. No photographs, no mementos, nothing that speaks to who she was before tragedy redefined her existence.

It's unacceptable.

"Seraphina," I begin as she sets cups of steaming tea in front of us, my voice carrying the kind of authority that ends arguments before they start, "we want to talk to you about the ball."

Her hands still, just for a moment, and I can smell the spike of anxiety in her scent. "If there's a problem with the arrangements…”

"There's no problem," Felix interrupts "We want to invite you. Again. But this time, we're not accepting your usual excuses."

She sits down across from us with movements that are too careful, too controlled, like she's afraid of taking up too much space. "I appreciate the gesture, but you know I don't attend social events anymore."

"Why?" Theo asks with military directness, leaning forward in a way that makes the space feel smaller, more intense. "And don't give us some bullshit about not being interested. We all know that's not the real reason."

For a long moment, the only sound is the ticking of an antique clock and the subtle sound of three alphas breathing in unison, creating a wall of dominance that fills the small space.

Then Seraphina speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Because I don't deserve to be happy when they can't be."

The words hit like a physical blow, Felix's scent sharpens with anger, and Theo's hands clench into fists before he forces them to relax.

"That's not how love works," Felix says, his voice carrying a dangerous edge that most people never hear. "The people who loved you wouldn't want you to stop living because they couldn't stay."

"You don't know that," she replies, but there's no real conviction behind the words, just the kind of desperate clinging to pain that some people use as a shield.

"Actually, we do," I say, my voice carrying the kind of alpha certainty that doesn't allow for argument. "Because we know what it's like to love someone. And when you love someone, you want them to be happy. You want them to have joy and connection and all the beautiful things that make life worth living."

"Even if you can't be there to share it with them," Theo adds with the kind of gentle ruthlessness that made him effective with trauma victims.

Seraphina looks up at us with eyes bright with unshed tears, and for the first time since we've known her, she looks less like a ghost and more like a woman who might be worth fighting for.

"I wouldn't know how to act," she admits, and I can hear the fear underneath the words. "It's been so long since I... since I tried to connect with people."

"That's what the masks are for," Felix points out with predatory satisfaction. "You can be anyone you want to be, just for one night. No expectations, no pressure. Just the possibility of remembering what it feels like to be alive."

"And you'll have us there," I add. "You know us. If you get overwhelmed or want to leave, we'll make sure you get home safely."

She's wavering, I can see it in her face and smell it in her scent. The part of her that has been buried under grief and guilt is stirring, remembering what it felt like to want things, to hope for connection.

"I don't have anything appropriate to wear," she says finally, and I know we've won.

"That's easily solved," Felix says with genuine enthusiasm that doesn't quite hide the possessive edge underneath. "I know a boutique in the city that specializes in vintage-inspired formal wear. I'll drive you there tomorrow, help you find something perfect."

"We'll cover the cost," I add, cutting off her protest before it can form. "Consider it payment for years of below-market rental rates."

"And," Theo says with the kind of gentle command that makes smart people listen, "if you decide at the last minute that you can't go through with it, that's your choice. But you're going to have the option, because that's what the people who loved you would have wanted."

Seraphina nods slowly, and for the first time since we've known her, she almost smiles—a real expression that transforms her face from beautiful-but-broken to something that makes my alpha instincts roar with possessive satisfaction.

"Okay. Yes. I'll... I'll try."

The drive back to town feels different somehow, charged with the kind of alpha satisfaction that comes from a successful hunt. We've done something important today that goes beyond business arrangements or social obligations. We've reminded a broken omega that she's worth claiming, that her presence in the world matters to people who are strong enough to protect what's theirs.