Mae spirals into processing, her hazel eyes going distant the way they used to when she was working through a problem in class, her mind consuming data faster than her face could display the conclusions.
"Mae? You okay? You look like you just swallowed a lemon."
"I'm fine. Just... processing."
"Fair enough. Processing is valid."
She refocuses, and I can see the detective in her brain begin assembling follow-up questions from the wreckage of her revised understanding.
I provide the gossip with theatrical relish because delivering intelligence reports on the Alphas of Valenridge is one of the few recreational activities available to an Omega on this campus that does not require a signed waiver. Rafe Calder: emotionally volatile, serially promiscuous, personality operating on a roulette system that alternates between charm and cruelty with no discernible pattern. Cal Knox: warmer, more approachable, a follower whose loyalty to Rafe's leadership does not extend to independent cruelty but also does not extend to independent resistance.
Jace fills in the operational details. Their pack dynamic. Their constant proximity. The puppy pile theory that I dismiss with appropriate scorn and he defends with characteristic commitment to absurdity.
"They do not sleep in a puppy pile," I scoff.
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you!"
"Hence why I said 'for all I know.'"
Mae interrupts to ask about their tenure at Valenridge, and Jace and I provide the timeline. Recent arrivals. Athletic scholarships. Hockey ambitions with legitimate NHL pipeline potential. Rafe as captain of the junior team with scouts already circling like vultures who have spotted a career they want to pick clean.
The conversation shifts when Mae mentions that she will only be staying with them for two weeks, that Miss Phillip is arranging alternative housing.
And my body reacts before my brain does.
I grab her arm, the motion sudden enough to make both of us jump.
"Mae! Maybe you could join us!"
"What?"
"Our dorm!" The words exit at a volume that is inversely proportional to my impulse control. "I'm not sure if there have to be four people, but we totally have space. It would be like old times! Sleepovers and late-night talks and me making you watch hockey instead of the other way around!"
"You like hockey now?"
"Iplayhockey now." The grin that splits my face is feral and proud, carrying the specific joy of a woman who fought for years to claim an identity the world told her was not available in her designation. "Omega league. My parents tried to force me into figure skating when they dragged me away, but I kept getting 'accidentally' kicked off teams for being too aggressive. Eventually, they gave up and let me do what I wanted."
What I wanted.
Four words that represent a decade of warfare. A thousand arguments with Eleanora. A hundred confrontations with coaches who told me my aggression was inappropriate for an Omega, that my checking was too physical, that my competitive drive was symptomatic of a hormonal imbalance rather than a legitimate athletic temperament.
They tried to break me into figure skating and I broke figure skating instead.
Mae smiles at my enthusiasm, and the warmth in it loosens a muscle in my chest that has been clenched since the corridor. Then she turns to Jace with a frown.
"Wait. If Sage is in an Omega dorm, and you're hanging out there... Are you an Alpha?"
Jace's lips curl into the smirk. The specific, trademarked, infuriatingly enigmatic smirk that he deploys when someone asks the question he has been fielding his entire life and has decided to answer with silence rather than explanation.
He does not respond. Just lifts one eyebrow and lets the vacuum fill itself.
Mae turns to me, pouting. "Why won't he tell me?"
I laugh, covering my mouth with my hand because the pout on Mae's face is so earnest that it deserves better than the wheezing snort currently escaping through my fingers.
"I'll explain later. Trust me, it's a whole thing."
