I freeze. Bastion appears behind me and crosses his arms. Wyatt also notices and starts to make his way back over to us. At least they have my back.
“Sure.” My voice is a little shaky. I’ve grown more confident throughout the day, but I can’t pretend I don’t see a predatory gleam in this woman’s eyes.
She leans in, phone poised. “There’s a rumor that the head of house hasn’t spoken to you all evening. Any comment on that?”
I smile the way finishing school taught me—warm and bright. “We’ve all been busy working the event. That’s what we’re here for.”
She doesn’t let up. “Some sources say Ranier Everhart isn’t happy about your appointment. How does that make you feel?”
Bastion bristles but I hold up a hand. “If Ranier Everhart were ever happy about anything, it’d be breaking news. You’d get a Pulitzer.” I laugh lightly. “He’s busy working the event like the rest of us.”
Bastion lets out a barely contained snort of laughter. Wyatt clears his throat. “Perhaps we ought to get back to it?”
Wyatt being the voice of reason takes me by surprise.
The reporter smiles wider. Like a cat about to pounce. “So you don’t feel ostracized at all?”
I shake my head. “No more than any new omega in a royal pack. Besides, Bastion and Wyatt have been great.”
Bastion leans in, stage-whispering, “We’d be dead by now if she wasn’t here. She does all the hard work.”
The reporter files that away, then turns her attention to Bastion. “What about the rumors of conflict in the pack?”
He shrugs. “It’s not conflict if you’re all fighting the same enemy. And right now, that enemy is hunger and the city’s budget, so let us get back to doing some good work, please.”
The reporter tries once more, but a royal PR assistant sweeps in and shuttles us toward the back of the hall, murmuring, “No off-the-cuff interviews, please.” She smiles at me, tight-lipped. “You’re doing great, Grey. Don’t take the bait.”
I nod, but my hands are shaking. Bastion notices, and when the PR lady is gone, he takes my hand and holds it. “You nailed it.”
I look up at him. “I don’t feel like I did.”
Wyatt kisses my forehead. “You did, Emery. The press are always vultures.”
The rest of the evening is a blur of handshakes, staged photos, and awkward conversations about “integration” and “pack culture.” Wyatt is everywhere at once, shaking off anyone who tries to get too close or too clever with me. I overhear him telling someone I’m a “national treasure, like those old coins nobody wants to spend,” which makes me want to both laugh and cry.
By the end of the night, my cheeks hurt from smiling and my feet are killing me, but I haven’t embarrassed myself or anyone else. That feels like victory.
Afterward, Bastion, Wyatt, and I leave through the back door into a narrow alley to get some fresh air. They flank me like bodyguards as we take a moment without our actual security.
The alley is boxed in by dumpsters and the crumbling shell of a playground. Quiet permeates the air as well as the city’s soft glow. I lean against the wall and let myself breathe.
This should be the part where I text Eloise, or my mom, or anyone who isn’t about to lecture me about optics and protocol. But I just stand there, trying not to think about Ranier’s face on the stage, or the way the reporters’ eyes tracked every twitch of his jaw when he ignored me.
I try not to imagine the headlines: “Omega Scandal! Everhart Pack Fails to Unify!”
I try not to imagine the disappointment that’ll hit my parents when the Council sends me packing if Ranier has his way.
Bastion slumps against the wall beside me. Wyatt stands on my other side, close enough that I can feel the tension rolling off him like heat.
It’s Bastion who speaks first. “Ranier’s an ass. Don’t let it get in your head.”
I stare at the opposite wall. “It’s not just Ranier. The whole city saw how he won’t even acknowledge my presence.”
Wyatt shakes his head. “Who cares what they saw? They don’t know anything.”
I want to believe him, but I can’t. “You saw the way the press ate it up. They’re going to crucify me. I’ll be gone by next week and you’ll get a new omega, a royal one who actually knows what she’s doing.”
There’s a silence so dense I could cut it with the edge of my clutch.
