I look up to find Adrian Wells standing a few feet away, watching me with concerned eyes. He’s changed into his third-act costume—dark jeans and a gray Henley. His hair is mussed, like he's been running his hands through it.
“What was weird?” I ask, though I know exactly what he means.
“You just... stopped.” He takes a half-step closer, then pauses. “For a second there, it was like you weren’t even here. Your eyes went all...” He trails off, clearly searching for the right word.
“Distant,” I supply. “I’m fine. Just got a little lightheaded. Long morning.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because—“
“Collins!” Sebastian Kane appears at Adrian‘s side, his usual grin firmly in place. “What the hell was that? One minute you‘re running the show, next minute you’re looking like you’re about to pass out. Very dramatic. Very on-brand for someone who never breaks character.”
“I‘m not breaking character,” I say, fighting to keep my voice calm. “I don’t have a character. I’m just the production coordinator.”
“Assistant production coordinator,” Adrian corrects automatically.
“Thank you,” I say dryly.
“See?” Bash grins. “That’s what I mean. Even when you’re about to collapse, you‘re still the most together person in the room. It’s impressive. Also a little concerning.” His smile fades slightly. “You really okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time. “Just need to get back to work.”
They exchange a look I can’t quite interpret.
“We’re heading to makeup,” Adrian says. “But if you need anything...”
“I’ll let you know,” I finish for him. “Thanks.”
They move away, but not before Bash shoots me another concerned glance over his shoulder. I watch them go, a strange warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with whatever‘s happening to my body. It’s the way they checked onme—not out of obligation, but because they noticed. Because they cared.
That doesn’t happen. Not to me. Betas are the background, the steady support. We don’t get noticed.
Except apparently now I do.
I turn back to my tablet, pulling up the next item on my list. I’ve lost at least five minutes with whatever just happened. I need to make up the time, get things back on track.
“Okay, what the hell is going on with you?”
Nadia appears at my side, her arm linking through mine as she steers me toward the relative quiet behind the monitors. Her voice is low but intense, her eyes fixed on my face.
“Nothing’s going on,” I say, but even I can hear the weakness in it.
“Bullshit.” She stops us in the shadow of a lighting rig, turning to face me directly. “You’ve been off all week. You’re jumpy. You‘re distracted. And just now, you completely froze in the middle of a transition. That is not you.”
I shrug, trying for casual. “Everyone gets run-down toward the end of a production. You know that.”
“This isn’t run-down.” She leans closer, her voice dropping even further. “Your scent is changing, Maya. It’s stronger. Different. And the way those alphas are watching you...” She shakes her head. “Something‘s happening. I know it.”
The word sends a jolt through me. Alphas. Of course that's what they are. Suddenly a few things click into place. The way they command attention without trying. The way people naturally make space for them. The intensity of their focus when it lands on you. And the way my body is reacting to them, like it’s responding to some signal I can’t consciously detect.
But that doesn‘t explain why it’s affecting me. I’m a beta.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, the lie bitter on my tongue. “And I really need to get back to work. We’re behind schedule.”
Nadia’s eyes narrow. “This conversation isn’t over,” she says. “But I’ll let you go for now. On one condition.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll tell me if it gets worse. If anything else happens. No more pretending you’re fine when you’re clearly not.”
