"There are going to be two divisions."
The information lands in the office and rearranges its contents. I frown, the implication assembling itself in my tactical brain with the speed of a play developing on ice.
"Two divisions," I repeat slowly. "So the team that Étienne, Cal, Rafe, and I guess his older brother are on... that's one division?"
Coach Mercer nods.
"Division One. The established pack. Rafe's captaincy, Cal's defense, Étienne's goaltending, and now Raphaël's offensive firepower. They'll compete as a unit with supplementary players drawn from the current roster."
"And Division Two?" Archie's voice is quiet. Not disinterested. The restrained cadence of a man who has identified where this conversation is heading and is calculating the cost of the destination before confirming his willingness to travel.
Coach Mercer looks at him. Then at me. Then back at him.
"I need a full second set."
The marker taps against his palm in a rhythm that matches my pulse.
"What I witnessed on the ice today from both of you was not a fluke. It was not adrenaline or beginner's luck or the novelty of an Omega and a nerd surprising a room full of Alphas who underestimated them. What I saw was professional-level execution from two athletes who have been concealing their abilities behind masks that I am now formally asking them to remove."
He points the marker at Archie.
"You played five positions in a single drill with an IQ that my senior players cannot match after years of coaching. Your father trained you to be a generational talent, and you have been hiding it behind glasses and a grade point average because participating carries risks that observing does not."
The marker swivels to me.
"And you played with a raw power and defensive instinct that most male Alphas on my current roster would envy. You read the ice the way your father reads a coaching film. Your skating is rough but your fundamentals are elite, and your competitive intensity does not deteriorate under pressure, which is the single rarest quality I evaluate in a player."
He sets the marker on the desk.
"I want both of you on Division Two. You would form the core of the second squad, with additional players recruited over the next week. Six weeks to build a team, develop chemistry, and compete for a playoff berth."
The office is quiet.
Archie exhales through his nose. A controlled, measured breath that tells me his analytical brain is running calculations behind the neutral facade, weighing variables I cannot see against outcomes I cannot predict.
"You want both of us to be on the second set," he says. Not a question. A confirmation, delivered with the flat precision of a man restating terms before signing a contract.
Coach Mercer nods.
"With you as center and playmaker. Holloway as your defensive anchor. And the remaining positions filled by athletes I've been scouting from the incoming class who possess the talent but lack the pack structure to compete in Division One."
He leans forward, elbows on the desk.
"Would you both be interested?"
My throat tightens.
The wordinteresteddoes not begin to describe the magnitude of what is being offered. A roster spot. A competitive team. A legitimate pathway to the playoffs in a sanctioned league that will be watched by scouts and attended by professional organizations and covered by media outlets that have never written the wordOmegain the same sentence ashockey playerwithout appending a qualifier that diminishes the achievement.
This is it.
This is the shot you have been chasing since you were six years old and your father put a stick in your hands and told you the ice does not care about designations.
This is the door that every coach, every scout, every clipboard-wielding gatekeeper in professional hockey has been closing in your face for fifteen years.
And it is open.
I swallow. The motion is audible in the quiet office, my throat working against a tightness that has nothing to do with dehydration and everything to do with the specific, paralyzing terror of being offered the thing you want most and knowing that wanting it makes you vulnerable in ways you cannot control.
