Page 12 of The Knotheads Next Door
She's latent at an age when most people have been fully presented for nearly a decade.
She fled Heraford in a hurry with minimal possessions.
She's clearly hiding something.
She bristles at direct questions.
She chose "I'm not an omega" over "I'm a beta" when Jasper confronted her.
None of these things automatically make her a problem. But together, they form a pattern that my orderly mind can't help but flag as potentially disruptive.
Not that it matters. This is a transaction, not a pack bonding exercise. We need her rent money for the loan payment, not her friendship or her backstory. 3 months, and then we can reevaluate.
Later that evening, I hear movement in the kitchen and find Rowan standing in front of the open pantry, looking uncertain.
"The mugs go in the cabinet above the coffee maker," I say, making her jump for the second time. She's skittish, this one.
"Sorry," she says, quickly closing the pantry door. "I was just trying to figure out which cabinets are communal and which might be, you know, claimed territory."
Smart. Most people wouldn't think of that.
"Left side of the pantry is shared basics—flour, sugar, spices, pasta. The right side is sorted by owner. You can have the bottom shelf." I point to the cabinets. "Same with the fridge. Communal condiments on the door, personal items on assigned shelves."
She nods, absorbing the information with a serious expression that makes her look younger somehow. "And the coffee maker? Is that... a shared resource or should I get my own?"
"Shared, but Jasper has strong opinions about how it's cleaned. Leave it spotless or face his wrath."
"Noted," she says, and then, after a pause: "Thank you."
The politeness catches me off guard. It's formal, almost stiff, but genuine. I'm not used to omegas—even latent ones—being quite so... contained. In my experience, they tend toward either excessive friendliness or nervous deference, especially aroundalphas. Rowan does neither. She's watchful, guarded, but with a core of steel that shows through in small moments.
"Your scent is unusual," I remark, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly to see how she'll react. "Theo noticed it too."
She visibly stiffens, hands tightening around the mug she's holding. "Is that a problem?"
"Just an observation."
She sets the mug down on the counter with a small click. "Well, as I said, I'm latent. My scent is... undeveloped."
