Sweat prickles along my hairline despite the breeze moving through the open tent flaps. My hands curl into fists at my sides. How quickly I’d assumed the worst when I watched the viral clip. How easily I’d slotted Jared into the predatory Alpha stereotype despite my own experiences with being unfairly labeled.
“Play it again,” demands a woman at the back. “Slower this time.”
Emily obliges, stepping through the footage frame by frame during the critical moments. The entire tent follows along as Jared’s intentions become unmistakable in slow motion, his hand reaching out palm up, not grabbing or threatening.
“You expect us to believe an Alpha wasn’t affected by an Omega in Heat?” someone demands.
Across the tent, Jared sinks lower in his seat, the hood shadowing his features.
Emily angles toward him in question, and hemust give her some signal, because she turns back to the crowd. “Jared is scent-blind. He can’t smell pheromones.”
A ripple goes through the crowd.
“Then why’d he try to help her in the first place?” the same person demands, determined to paint the young Alpha as a villain.
“Maybe because he’s a decent person?” Grady responds, his quiet voice carrying in the sudden lull.
Heads turn toward us, noticing our presence for the first time.
Emily spots us at the back, a flash of surprise crossing her features before her professional mask returns. “The point isn’t whether her pheromones affected Jared. The point is what actually happened versus what you’ve been sharing online.”
A younger carpenter scuffs his boot on the plywood floor. “The video I watched looked different.”
“That’s because it was edited to look different,” Emily replies. “Fifteen seconds taken out of context. I can think of quite a few visits to the Rusty Gull, where if someone had taken a video out of context, any one of you would be cast in a bad light.”
A few chuckles rise from the group, but Emily’s hard expression quiets them. “Would you want theentire town turning on you because of something like that?”
The room shifts, the atmosphere changing from confrontation to uncomfortable realization.
“If anyone wants to spread rumors about members of this crew,” Emily continues, her next line carrying across the entire tent, “you’ll do it with the full story in your hands. Not edited clips designed to destroy someone’s reputation.”
She clicks off the projector, and the screen goes dark. “Now, we have a resort to build, and two hours before you get to call it done for the day. Back to work!”
Crew members begin filing out, conversations hushed but intense. Some avoid Jared, skirting his corner, while others cast a fleeting, apologetic glance his way, though none stop to speak to him.
“Amazing how fast people turn when there’s blood in the water,” Grady murmurs beside me, his words pitched for my ears alone.
The phrase strikes like a physical blow, memories surfacing of my previous teaching position.
How quickly I became dangerous after a parent witnessed me defending myself against Carson’s advances during an open house. All she’d seen was Carson’s bloody lip, not thebruises on my wrist from his fingers, and the rumor had spread that the oversized Omega was too aggressive and shouldn’t be trusted around kids.
An entire career dismantled by gossip, and the principal’s solution was for me to give in and accept Carson’s Mark to prove it was just a misunderstanding between lovers.
I’d come to Misty Pines to rebuild in a place where no one knew me. And yet, when the first viral clip of Jared surfaced, didn’t I participate in the same kind of judgment?
The tent empties until only a handful remain. Jared stands, keeping his head down, and inches toward the exit.
Emily gathers her equipment, speaking with one of the older workers, but she tracks Jared’s movement, concern evident in the furrow of her brow.
A burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard stops in front of Emily, and I recognize him as the one who kept pushing the Heat issue. “You can show the video all you want, but Alphas stick together. That’s just how it is.”
Emily steps forward, closing the distance between them without touching. “Do we, Frank? Is this why you’ve spent the day spreading gossipamong the crew that painted one of our own as a predator?”
Frank’s shoulders hunch. “I’m protecting my people. Got an Omega daughter at home.”
“Your concern would be touching if it wasn’t based on lies.” Emily juts out her chin. “Keep doing it, and you’re off my site.”
Frank’s face flushes beneath his weathered tan, and Frank appears ready to challenge her. But then he snorts, turning on his heel to push past his companions toward the exit.
