Rejected as Weak: The Alpha Wants Me Back

My Risk

The pilot notes were spread across the table when the headache came back.

I had been comparing Nora's self-reported numbers with the times Anya had marked changes in her pulse.

It wasn't difficult work.

It was exactly the kind of work that made it easy to forget lunch.

Anya came into the review room carrying two cups of water. She set one in front of me and sat across the table.

"The Keller numbers are solid," I said.

"I know. I was there."

She looked at me for another second.

"When did you eat?"

"Lunch happened."

"What time?"

I turned a page.

"At some point today."

"Mara."

"I forgot."

"That's closer."

She reached across the table and pressed two fingers to my wrist.

I let her.

There were some arguments worth having. Arguing with Anya while she was counting my pulse wasn't one of them.

"A little fast," she said. "Nothing alarming."

She checked my eyes next.

"Pupils are normal. You're not in medical trouble."

"Good."

"But you're tired, you skipped a meal, and your headache is coming back."

I took the water.

"Also good?"

"No."

I drank.

Anya leaned back in her chair.

"Keep tomorrow light."

The Hart family was scheduled for their first pilot session the next afternoon.

I looked at the schedule beside my notes.

"How light?"

"Don't promise anyone tonight that you're definitely doing Hart."

"I'm already on the schedule."

"Then wake up first."

I glanced at her.

Anya shrugged.

"If the headache is worse tomorrow, move it. If you're better, we check you again and decide from there."

"Okay."

That seemed reasonable.

Nothing urgent was happening with the Harts. No crisis. No one was waiting in a hallway half-Shifted and

panicking.

There was time to see how I felt in the morning.

I finished the water and went back to the notes.

A little before six, I left the review room to pick up the Hart folder from the scheduling board near the front office.

Most of the day staff had already gone.

The hallway was quiet enough that Silas's voice carried around the bend.

"Move the Hart session."

I slowed.

A younger voice answered, one of the scheduling staff.

"To when?"

"Day after tomorrow."

There was a pause.

"Did Mara ask to move it?"

"She's not available tomorrow."

I stopped.

The headache pulsed once behind my temples.

The coordinator said something too low for me to catch.

Silas answered, "Confirm the change with the Hart family. I'll update Kern."

A moment later, footsteps moved away.

I waited until they were gone.

Then I rounded the corner.

Silas stood beside the scheduling board with a slip of paper in one hand.

He looked up.

"You're still here."

"You moved the Hart session."

"Yes."

"You didn't ask me."

His expression barely changed.

"You have a headache. You missed lunch. Anya told you to reassess tomorrow."

"She told me to decide tomorrow."

Silas set the paper down.

"It was a risk decision."

"It was my risk."

His jaw tightened.

Only slightly.

"Not entirely."

I waited.

"If you go into one of our sessions exhausted and something happens, that becomes Greyhaven's problem too.

Anya is responsible for medical safety. Kern is responsible for the training floor. I'm responsible for whether we put

people into a session that shouldn't be there."

He wasn't wrong.

That made it more irritating, not less.

"If Greyhaven doesn't want to run the session tomorrow, that's your decision."

Silas watched me.

"You can say the pilot isn't running."

I pointed toward the board.

"But you don't get to tell someone I'm not available."

His eyes shifted toward the schedule.

"You were going to say yes."

"Maybe."

"And you shouldn't."

"Maybe."

"Mara."

"That's still an answer you made for me."

That stopped him.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

He looked at the paper he'd been holding.

Then back at me.

"You're right."

I hadn't expected the answer quickly enough to hide it.

Silas noticed.

He didn't comment.

"I should've asked."

That was all.

No explanation about good intentions.

No second argument about whether his judgment had been correct.

He reached for his phone.

"I'll call them back."

"You don't need to put the session back on for tomorrow."

He paused.

"I'll decide in the morning," I said. "If I need it moved, I'll tell you."

Silas studied me for a moment.

"Fine."

He made the call while I stood beside the board.

When someone answered, he said, "I moved the Hart session before confirming Mara's availability. Leave

tomorrow's slot open for now. We'll confirm in the morning."

A short pause.

"Yes."

He hung up.

Neither of us said anything.

I picked up the Hart folder.

Silas moved aside to let me pass.

The headache was still there.

So was the irritation.

But the schedule was open again.

That was enough for tonight.

The next morning, I woke before my alarm.

The headache hadn't worsened.

It hadn't disappeared either.

I stayed still for a minute and paid attention instead of getting out of bed automatically.

My hands were warm.

My legs felt heavy.

There was a dull ache through my shoulders, and the kind of tiredness that made another few hours of sleep sound

better than breakfast.

I could probably get through a session.

That wasn't the same as saying I should.

The Hart meeting would be their first.

First meetings meant watching closely. Listening to what people said and what they didn't. Catching the small

things before they turned into bigger ones.

There was no reason to walk into that already tired.

I got dressed and went downstairs.

Silas was in the review room with the schedule open in front of him.

He looked up when I entered.

He didn't ask.

I appreciated that more than I wanted to.

"Move Hart," I said.

"Next open slot?"

"Yes."

Silas picked up the phone.

No smile.

No I told you so.

He made the call, confirmed the new time, and wrote it onto the schedule.

"Done."

I looked at the new date.

Same result.

Different morning.

"Thanks."

Silas nodded once.

Then went back to the rest of the schedule.

Blackridge's youth scheduling office was quiet when I walked in.

Marcus sat behind the desk with a tablet open in front of him, moving appointments around the weekly grid.

I had come down to review training assignments.

Routine work.

Necessary work.

The kind of thing that kept Blackridge running whether anyone noticed it or not.

Cale's mother stood beside the desk with a folder held against her chest.

I recognized her immediately.

She glanced at me, nodded politely, then turned back to Marcus.

"When is Mara coming back?"

The question was ordinary enough that my attention stayed on the report in my hand.

Marcus looked up.

"She isn't."

Cale's mother frowned.

"What?"

Marcus set the tablet down.

"She's gone."

My eyes lifted from the page.

Gone.

Cale's mother stared at him.

"I thought she was taking time off."

"No."

Marcus's tone stayed matter-of-fact.

"She withdrew from Blackridge."

"Oh."

The woman looked down at the folder.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then I heard myself say, "That makes it sound permanent."

Marcus glanced at me.

"It is permanent unless she chooses otherwise."

There was nothing to argue with.

Mara hadn't requested leave.

She hadn't taken a temporary assignment somewhere else.

She had filed for withdrawal.

Marcus had confirmed it.

Her affiliation had ended.

I knew every one of those facts.

Apparently, knowing them and hearing someone say she's gone were different things.

Cale's mother shifted the folder in her hands.

"So who do I talk to about his next session?"

Marcus picked the tablet back up.

"Use the youth desk for now. They'll assign whoever is covering that block."

"Will they know about what happened last time?"

"The notes are in his file."

She nodded slowly.

"All right."

Marcus opened Cale's schedule.

A few taps.

A new appointment appeared.

Someone else's name sat beside it.

Cale's mother thanked him and left.

The door closed.

Marcus kept working.

I looked at the appointment for another second.

"You'll come back."

I'd said it like there was nothing uncertain about the sentence.

I looked away from the screen.

Not forever, I told myself.

But for now, someone else's name was already on the schedule.