"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," I say, to my own wrist, out loud, in front of everyone.
He shakes his head. Not no — clearing it. Like a dog shaking off water. Then he looks at me harder, like looking harder will make whatever just happened make sense.
He takes a step toward me.
Both staff members move immediately, closing the gap between us.
"Easy," one of them says. To Jake, not to me, hands up, the careful voice of someone who has a taser on their belt and does not want to use it.
Jake looks at the staff member. Then back at me. His jaw works.
"Your room is down here," I say. Level. "Let them take you there."
"I don't—"
"I know." I hold his gaze. "Do it anyway. It'll work out."
I don't know if that's true. I say it because he needs something to hold onto right now and the alternative is watching him get dropped in a Red House corridor on his first day, and I don't want that. I don't know him and I don't want that.
He stares at me for another second. The bond between us is very loud.
Then something in his shoulders drops — just slightly, just enough — and he turns and lets the staff walk him down the corridor.
I follow at a distance.
***
His room is the same as any other room in Red House. Window, bed, desk.
Jake steps inside. He doesn't look at the bed. He looks at the corners. The door frame. The distance between the bed and the exit. Then he stops in the middle. I stay in the hallway and the staff step back but leave the door open.
The arc on my wrist is aware of him. It's been aware of him since the corridor and it hasn't quieted and I am not going to look at it while he's in the room.
He doesn't look at it either.
We are both very carefully not looking at my wrist.
"Jim," he says. Quieter now. The corridor-volume gone, just the word.
"I don't know where Jim is," I say. Honest.
He looks at the window.
"It'll work out," I say again. It sounds less convincing the second time. He doesn't call me on it.
"You the alpha," he says. Not a question.
"Apparently."
"Great." Flat. Single word. Full paragraph of opinion.
"I'm getting that reaction a lot lately," I say. "Really good for my ego."
He doesn't find this funny. That's fine. I wasn't entirely trying to be funny.
I push off the doorframe. "Get some sleep if you can. Everything is worse when you haven't."
I turn to go.
