John's POV
The sun was high and annoying.
I squinted, affected by the blinding light as I crouched beside the garden patch, trying not to groan out loud. Who on earth assigns such a stupid task? Rohan was supposed to take care of the garden today. But no big brother decided I needed to learn "Responsibility." Whatever that meant.
I stabbed the shovel into the dirt with a little more force than necessary. I was not made for gardening. I was made for chaotic, faster, and sharper things. Not digging holes for herbs.
And definitely not babysitting the so-called breeder.
But guess who was humming behind me?
Syria.
I did not know what had gotten into me. Maybe it was boredom, or maybe it was curiosity.
So I invited her to the garden with me.
More like dragged her along.
It all started with a joke. I was expecting her to reject me rudely, complain, or whine but instead, she rolled her sleeves up like she was ready and got right to work.
"You are planting it upside down," she said from behind me.
I froze. "No, I am not," I argued.
"Yes, you are," she said, pointing at the sprout I had just buried. "Roots are supposed to go down, genius."
I turned to face her. She crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised with a mocking smirk.
"Did you just call me a genius sarcastically?" I asked.
"Is there any other way?" she asked indecorously.
"You have got some sass."
"And you have got some dirt on your face," she shot back, then dusted the dirt off my face before standing up and walking to the next row.
I stared at her, a little stunned by her mouth. Not many talked back to me.
I watched her for a moment. She knelt in the soil, hair packed in a ponytail. Nothing about her screamed "female" or "girly," and definitely not a breeder. She looked like a normal girl you would have met in the village. Except she wasn't. According to my other twin, Jake, she was more than that. She was a puzzle.
I sighed and got back to planting but this time, the right way.
"So," she began, still focusing on the herbs, "why does a house full of alphas need a garden anyway?"
For food?
"It is not for food," I muttered. "It is for responsibility."
I think what I said caught her attention, because she turned to me with a curious gaze.
"Responsibility?"
"Fred thinks tending to plants teaches us a sense of responsibility," I mimicked Fred's voice, puffing up my chest poorly. "'If you cannot grow something, you cannot protect something.'"
Syria snorted. "That sounds like something written in an educational book."
"Exactly!"
She laughed—out loud. It was not a fake or careful one. It was loud, dumb, and contagious. I found myself chuckling too.
I shook my head. "We are going to get in trouble."
"What? For laughing?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.
"For not acting like a good breeder and a proper Alpha," I replied.
Her expression shifted, just for a second. The smile fell, and I saw the fire. I recognized it. The same resistance I saw the first day I met her.
"Do you ever get tired?" she asked.
I did not answer immediately.
Did I?
I thought about the rules. Fred's lectures and Dad's expectations. About that stupid breeding system that determined our future and partner before we even knew what we wanted.
Hesitating, "Sometimes," I said.
She stared at me, trying to read my emotions. "And?"
"I do not want to talk about it."
She nodded in understanding at my response.
We fell into silence after that. Not an awkward one, but peaceful. She sat beside me, fingers brushing mine for comfort. I pretended not to notice maybe because I did not want to admit I liked it.
"Hey," I said after a while, just to break the silence. "You do not act like the others."
She paused. "The others?"
"Breeders. Girls brought here. You are different."
"Is that your way of calling me weird?" she asked, smiling faintly.
"Maybe."
She did not seem offended. Just smiled slightly.
"This place is weird," she said eventually. "Everything about the bloodline and heirs—it is like living in a history book. A very depressing one."
"I know," I muttered. "We were raised and brought up to think it was normal."
"But it is not."
"I know. It is not."
Her hand brushed mine again, but this time it lingered.
I cleared my throat. "You were not what I expected, you know."
"Let me guess you thought I was quiet, meek, and eager to throw myself at you and your brothers?"
"…Yes," I confessed.
"Then sorry to disappoint you," she said before laughing.
"You are not disappointing."
I did not mean to say that it just slipped out. But once I did, I did not take it back.
I wasn't regretting it either
She looked at me like I was some foreign animal but not in a suspicious or mocking way. Just quiet.
Then she gave me a dazzling smile. "Thank you."
We continued working side by side, barely speaking. But to me, something had shifted. A thread of understanding and a tiny little bond had formed. It was not romance, but something else.
Which I didn't want the others to know.
Especially Fred.
If Fred knew I was beginning to treat her as more than a tool, he would question my loyalty and lecture me on our bloodline duty. our mission.
But the truth was, I did not want to see her as a tool anymore.
She was a human—with a brain, humour, feelings and sassiness.
And more than anything, she made me feel normal.
I never realized how much I missed that feeling.
We finished the last row of gardening just as the sun was about to go down. Syria stood up and dusted the sand off her skirt.
"Well," she said, "I would admit it was not that bad."
"I will take it as a compliment."
"Do not get used to it."
I smiled and stretched out my bones, which were aching. "Come on, I will sneak out some snacks from the pantry."
"Are you always this rebellious?" she asked.
"Only for you," I said, winking.
She rolled her eyes but followed me anyway.
As we walked side by side toward the back entrance, I realized something: I liked being around her. Not just tolerated liked.
And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.
Because if I started liking her too much, I might start questioning everything.
And in this house, questions were dangerous.