Page 141 of Knotting the Firefighters

Here we go.

The interrogation I've been dreading.

Bear's smirk is absolutely unrepentant, clearly enjoying Calder's belated realization that something significant occurred during our extended boutique privacy.

He quickens his pace, reaching me in three long strides, his hand finding mine with a proprietary gesture that doesn't escape anyone's notice.

"You know—" His tone is deliberately casual, clearly baiting Calder. "—typical Alpha duties that you'd all experience if you stopped fighting like children and paid attention to what Omega actually needs."

Subtle.

Extremely subtle.

Not broadcasting what happened at all.

Calder's expression darkens—not quite jealousy but definitely territorial frustration at being excluded from whatever intimacy Bear and I shared.

"He's the fucking problem," Calder declares, pointing an accusatory finger at Aidric. "Being grumpy as fuck about everything, making every interaction into conflict instead of just accepting reality and adapting."

Aidric's response is immediate, defensive walls activating.

"I don't even want to be here! Didn't ask to spend the afternoon shopping and playing happy pack. I was forced and threatened into participation like a hostage rather than a willing contributor."

Here we go.

The bickering resumes right on schedule.

Can't go thirty consecutive minutes without arguing, apparently.

They launch into a familiar pattern—accusations and counter-accusations, increasingly creative insults, the particular brand of verbal warfare that suggests deep history and unresolved feelings.

Silas materializes at my other side—appearing with quiet competence that suggests he's been waiting for the optimal moment to extract me from the developing conflict.

His hand finds my free one, creating a chain with Bear on my right and Silas on my left, both of them clearly prepared to physically remove me from whatever explosion is brewing behind us.

"Want to check out that store?" Silas gestures toward the establishment across the street—a painted sign reading "Timeless Treasures," a window display featuring clothing that immediately catches my attention with its vintage aesthetic.

Yes.

Absolutely yes.

That's exactly my type of store.

But I hesitate, uncertainty creeping in despite enthusiasm.

"I thought I shouldn't get more vintage pieces? Now that I have all these new clothes, isn't purchasing additional vintage items kind of defeating the purpose?"

The purpose is wardrobe diversification.

Expanding beyond a single aesthetic.

Proving I can exist in modern fashion contexts.

Silas frowns—genuine confusion rather than judgment, like my statement doesn't compute with his understanding of how preferences work.

"Why wouldn't you? We got you new clothes to provide options, not to replace what you genuinely love and enjoy."

His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand—a soothing gesture that grounds me while he continues.