Freya was seated on the edge of Samantha’s wide oak bed, her fingers absently tugging at the loose threads of the blanket beneath her. The room smelled faintly of lavender and warm firewood from the hearth, comforting in its simplicity. She and Samantha had been talking — though in truth, it was more Samantha doing the talking while Freya half-listened, her mind circling the words Logan had spoken earlier.

“…and then of course, the kitchen omegas spilled nearly half the stew before ...