A Role Earned

"Typical," mutters the familiar voice behind me. Irritation sparks before I can stop it. Of course. One evening back, and Landry is already close enough to ruin the potatoes. I am not doing this again. Not this year. "Feel free to stand literally anywhere else," I say, reaching for a tray. There is a pause behind me. "I would," he says, less smoothly than I expect, "but half the school is watching, and if I cut the dinner queue on the first night back, my grandfather will make it educational." I glance over my shoulder. He looks different. Not physically. Unfortunately, he still looks like someone designed an alpha and then gave him an attitude problem for balance. But there is something off about him. His shoulders are tense, his jaw tight, his eyes tired beneath the usual scowl. Good. I am tired too. "Tragic," I say. "Imagine being forced to obey a basic social rule." His mouth twitches. Only slightly. "I’m enduring it with great courage." "Heroic." The queue moves. I take a plate and refuse to give him more of my attention than necessary. Which is difficult, because my body seems determined to know exactly where he is. Annoying. Deeply annoying. "You manage to break rules in far more interesting ways," I say. "I’m sure you’d survive stepping out of a dinner line." He gives a short laugh. Not quite amused. Not quite bitter. "Still keeping a record of my rule violations, Grey?" "Only the memorable ones." Astraea nudges at me, and I finally turn to face Landry. I am taller than I was. Annoyingly, so is he. His dark brown hair has been lightened by the sun, the ends almost bronze, and it is somehow even more unruly than before. Thick brows sit low over dark green eyes, sharpening his whole face into something severe. He looks like an alpha should look. That is the problem. Broad shoulders. Easy height. Too much presence for a dinner queue. But there is something else there too. A tightness around his mouth. A shadow under his eyes. He does not look quite as pleased with himself as he used to. Good. The thought is unkind. I keep it anyway. All the misery he gave me last year comes rushing back at once. The comments. The staring. The tension before every combat session. The force of his foot driving into my ribs after I had already won. My chest tightens around the memory. Everything about the way he stands still speaks of confidence, or arrogance. With Landry, it has always been difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. "If it weren’t for rules, I’d have beaten you more times than you’d care to remember," I say, heat sparking under my skin. His eyes flash bright green for a split second. Calix, then. Wonderful. Apparently, everyone had brought their temper to dinner. "You broke my arm, Grey." "During an approved manoeuvre." His jaw tightens. For a second, I think he might say something worse. Something familiar. Something sharp enough to drag us straight back into last year. Then he exhales. "Right," he mutters. "Of course." That catches me off guard more than an insult would have. I turn back to the food counter before he can see it. "Anyone who has to blame the rules for losing a match has no business starting one in the first place," I say quietly. Behind me, he gives a short, humourless laugh. "We’re really doing this already?" To my surprise, he sounds more tired than combative. The change in his tone catches me off guard. I glance back, expecting the usual smirk. The usual glint of provocation. The look that says he has found a weakness and intends to press until something gives. It is not there. There is something else instead. Frustration, maybe. Exhaustion. Something pulled too tight beneath the surface. I do not know what to do with that. I know what to do with cruel. "I’m not doing anything," I say, quieter now. "You started it." His mouth tightens slightly. "Yeah," he says, exhaling. "I suppose I did." That is worse. The queue shuffles forwards, and I turn back to the food because staring at him suddenly feels like stepping too close to a ledge. My ribs tighten the way they always do around him. The ghost of an old ache. The echo of a fight neither of us has ever really put down. I take my food back to the table and sit beside Jen, no longer remotely hungry. "What’s up?" Jen asks, slicing into her raw beef with the calm focus of someone committing a small crime. "Bloody Landry," I mutter. She sets her cutlery down at once. "Already? Impressive. Even for him." "He was standing behind me in the queue." "Menacingly?" "Existingly." "Ah. His worst habit." Despite myself, my mouth twitches. Jen studies me properly. "Ignore him. In nine months, you’ll never have to see his arrogant arse again." "Nor you," I say. The sadness in my voice surprises us both. Jen softens, then immediately ruins it by popping a piece of beef into her mouth. "You do understand adults can book flights, don’t you?" I look at her. "Can they?" "Apparently. Whole websites for it. Very modern." "Sounds suspicious." "Deeply. But useful if you ever want to visit your glamorous siren friend in a glamorous coastal location." I laugh despite myself. The thought of seeing Jen somewhere hot and bright, far away from Exton and Landry and everything waiting for me here, settles my stomach enough that I can actually eat. By the time we get back to our room, I am thinking more about gravy than Landry. Progress, obviously. Then I see the note pinned to our door. Jen plucks it free with interest. "Oh," she says, handing it over. "This is for you." Her expression has already sharpened. I unfold it, and my stomach drops. Miss Lyra Grey, Please come to my office at seven thirty. Regards, Headmaster Leo Landry "f**k," I mutter. Panic rises so fast it almost feels ridiculous. One evening back. One dinner queue. One conversation with his grandson, and now I am being summoned by a Landry in a turret. Excellent. "You’ve got six minutes," Jen says, stepping into the room and kicking off her shoes. "So either panic quickly or walk quickly." "I can do both." "Thought so." I turn before I can overthink myself into paralysis, heading back through the main atrium and towards the lift that leads to the headmaster’s office. I don’t think we’re in trouble, Astraea says gently. Then why else would I be called here? The lift doors open onto the corridor outside the headmaster’s office, and my stomach sinks at the sight of the old oak door. I knock, then let myself in. "Hello, sir," I say stiffly, closing the door behind me. I have never been inside his office before. I have only met Headmaster Landry properly once, when he came to the infirmary after his grandson injured me last year and apologised on his grandson’s behalf. I had hated that. Not because he was unkind. He wasn’t. Because it had not been his grandson standing there. Because afterwards, nothing had really stopped. Not completely. The worst of it, perhaps, but not the looks, the comments, the low-level misery of being on the wrong side of someone with his surname. "Good evening, Miss Grey," the headmaster says. He gestures to the chair opposite his desk. I sit carefully, trying not to look as though I am mentally calculating how many different ways this evening could get worse. I clear my throat. "Am I in trouble, sir?" The question comes out tighter than I intended. My pack pays for me to be here. One evening back is far too soon to have become a problem. To my surprise, the headmaster laughs. "Goodness, no." Relief hits so fast I almost miss what he says next. "I’ve asked you here because I have awarded you a role. Patrol lead." For a second, I only stare at him. "Me?" "You." "Are you serious?" I blurt, then immediately wince. "Sir." His mouth twitches. "Quite serious. It is the first time I have offered the role to someone who is neither alpha nor beta, but your consistency, discipline and performance have not gone unnoticed. In training or academically." My throat tightens. "You would be responsible for the patrol rota, boundary assignments, and coordinating the lunchtime combat sessions." For a second, I forget to breathe. "Combat too?" "Combat too," he confirms. "You have proven yourself more than capable of responsibility." For a second, I can only stare at him. All that work. All those early mornings. All the hours spent pushing when no one was looking. Seen. Before I can properly answer, the office door swings open hard enough to hit the wall. "Grey for patrol lead? Are you serious?" Landry storms in, fists clenched at his sides, his eyes bright with the sort of anger that makes every instinct in me go still. He does not notice me. Not at first. He is looking only at his grandfather, seeing red so completely that I may as well be part of the furniture. The headmaster does not even flinch. He simply sighs, as though this is not the first time Landry has entered a room like a lit match looking for something dry. "The decision has been made, Josh," the headmaster says evenly. "She’s a gamma." The words hit harder because he says them before he realises I am there. Then his gaze cuts sideways. Finds me. Something flickers across his face. Not apology. Not quite. But awareness, at least. Too late to be useful. "And what would Dad think of that?" The headmaster glances briefly at me, then back at his grandson. "He was fully in support of it." Landry's jaw tightens. "Bullshit." The word cracks across the room. I go still. The headmaster does not. "Watch your tone." Landry drags in a breath, but it does nothing to settle him. "How is this meant to help?" he demands. I blink. Help? The headmaster studies him for a long moment. "You still don’t understand." Landry stands rigid with anger, shoulders tense, hands still curled into fists at his sides. "I would have done a good job." For the first time, something in his voice slips. Not much. Just enough to sound less furious than wounded. "I know," the headmaster says quietly. "You would have done a good job." Landry's gaze sharpens, as though he can already hear the rest coming. "Miss Grey will do a great one." I wish the headmaster had not said it. Or at least that he had not said it while looking at Landry. Landry's head turns sharply towards me, and his stare lands like a blade. I sit very still. I do not need any more reasons for him to resent me. "It’s fine," I say quickly. "He can—" "Find another way to prove himself," the headmaster cuts in. His tone is so final that I fall silent. Joshua’s eyes are still on me. For one dreadful second, I meet them properly. I should feel triumphant. I have been trusted. Chosen. Seen. Instead, I feel like someone has placed me between two Landrys and handed me a target to hold. "Please may I be excused?" I ask. The headmaster nods. I am out of the chair and through the door before Landry can say another word. I am proud, Astraea says as we hurry back towards our room. We will be brilliant at this. Are you kidding? Landry is going to hate us even more. He does not hate us. He absolutely hates us. No, she says, far too calmly. He is angry because he wanted something you earned. That is not better. It is more accurate. Jen looks up the moment I step through the door. "Well?" I explain everything, from the note to the office to Landry barging in halfway through, and by the end of it she looks delighted. "That’s amazing." "It is not amazing," I say, dropping onto the edge of my bed. "Landry does not need another reason to make my life miserable." "Maybe once you start, he’ll realise you’re good at it." I stare at her. "Fine," she says. "Maybe he’ll realise it several weeks after everyone else and be insufferable about that too." "He is painfully arrogant, entitled, and completely incapable of reason." "Mm," Jen says, far too thoughtfully. "Have you noticed he is also painfully handsome?" I scowl. "That is irrelevant." "Not to the eyes." "There is nothing truly attractive about him beyond the whole alpha thing," I say. "And that hardly counts. He is impossible. Always angry. Always looking for a fight." Jen snorts. "So, a fairly standard alpha." "Exactly." "A painfully handsome standard alpha." I narrow my eyes at her. "Irrelevant." "To you, perhaps. I am an innocent observer with excellent vision." "You are deeply unhelpful." "Often." She rolls onto her side on the sofa. "What does being patrol lead actually involve?" I let out a breath, grateful for the change in subject. "Organising the boundary patrols around everyone’s timetables, making sure there’s a decent skill mix, covering holidays, handling swaps..." I pause. "And leading the lunchtime combat sessions." Her brows lift. "Still doing those?" "Apparently. It helps Lycans settle before afternoon classes if they’ve burned off some energy at lunch." "And does it?" "Definitely. Especially if something has made you angry that morning." Jen grins. "Excellent. So you have official authority and a socially acceptable outlet for vengeance." I laugh, and the knot in my chest loosens at last. "What have you got tomorrow?" she asks. "Geography, biology, physics. Photography starts Tuesday." "Nice. Is physics still with Townsend after lunch?" "Yep." "Amazing. One final year with my favourite lab partner." I smile and lie back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The day has been too much. Sam leaving. Exton pressing in from all sides. Landry appearing behind me like a bad omen with excellent bone structure. Then the headmaster’s office, patrol lead, and the horrible knowledge that Joshua Landry now has another reason to look at me as though I have personally offended his bloodline. Still. I have been trusted with something important. Something visible. Something I earned. Astraea settles with quiet pride inside me. For the first time since arriving back at Exton, the year ahead does not feel quite so much like something to survive. It feels like something I might be allowed to shape.