Her Meeting

I am not late. I make sure of it. Still, when I step into the senior common room, Grey is already there. Of course she is. She stands at the front rather than sitting, notes spread neatly across the table. Actual notes. Several pages of them. A few others are already seated. Alphas and betas only, ready to hear the plan and pass it down to the lower ranks. We could not fit every Lycan in the school in one room. I pause just inside the doorway. Only briefly. Long enough to notice the strand of chocolate-brown hair she tucks behind her ear, the way her teeth catch at her lower lip before she looks up. Grey eyes. Straight spine. Nerves hidden under discipline. Annoying. She came prepared, Calix says. She came with paper. Several sheets of it. I move further into the room before he can become more irritating. Grey’s gaze holds mine for a second, then drops back to her notes. Good. She should be nervous. This room is full of people who outrank her. The fact that does not seem to matter enough is already becoming a problem. Calix shifts. Balanced, he says. I drop my gaze and move further into the room. What? Her, he replies calmly. Steady. Prepared. Taking this seriously. I drop into a seat near the back, adopting a casual position. She brought notes. You noticed. Hard not to. They’re everywhere. That is not all you noticed. I ignore him. Grey glances up again, and something flickers across her expression before she looks back at her notes. Nerves. She takes a sip from her water bottle, then screws the lid back on a little too tightly. Good. She should be nervous. She is standing in front of a room full of people who outrank her. She is out of her depth. Probably. Her gaze drops back to her notes, and for a moment I think she might stall. Then she inhales. Slow. Deliberate. The nerves do not disappear, exactly. She just puts them somewhere useful. Annoying. "Thank you all for coming," she says. Her voice is quiet, but steady. "I wanted to go through the patrol rota for this term. I’ve completed the first version." She gestures to the sheets in front of her. Already completed? I say to Calix. Unlikely to be any good, then. "Exton’s borders are larger than they were three years ago," Grey continues, "and too wide to cover effectively in pairs without leaving gaps. Patrols will therefore run as singles. Three at a time, each assigned a section and rotating every three hours. I’ve coordinated the rota around the timetables of those who volunteered." I fold my arms. Singles. That does not sound viable. She unrolls a rough map. Actually drawn. Gone are the two usual patrol zones. In their place are three, overlapping at the likely breach points with far more logic than I want to admit. "North and west are lower risk due to the river and proximity to the residential area," she continues. "Those rotations will include younger or recently blended students, with experienced wolves nearby and one relief wolf on call. East and south remain priority zones. Older years only, varied skill mix. We also have fewer alphas this year than last." A murmur of agreement comes from somewhere to my left. Irritating. "What if something significant happens?" I ask. Grey looks up. "A group of rogues testing the border," I continue. "Or trying to cross through school grounds towards the neighbouring residential area. We are not lone wolves. We work in groups." I lean back slightly, keeping my voice even. "How is one Lycan supposed to handle that alone? Particularly if they are lower rank?" Her head lifts immediately. Grey eyes. Sharp focus. No flinch. Calix stills. I tilt my head slightly, watching her, waiting for the fear to creep back in. The same stillness from the queue. From my grandfather’s office. "What if someone lower rank runs into something they can’t handle?" I ask. "How are you making that safe?" My voice stays even. Curious on the surface. Testing underneath. If she wants this role, if she gets to stand there with everyone listening, then she needs to earn it. "Every day, there will be a relief wolf on call," she says. "Someone central, fast, and able to reach any sector quickly." I lean forward slightly. She still does not drop my gaze. "Rogues aren’t what they were five years ago," I say. "They’re bigger, faster, smarter. Timing matters." "I know." She says it quietly. Not defensively. That is the first irritating thing. The second is that I believe her. She pauses, fingers pressing into the table. For half a second, I think I have her. Then she steadies. "There will always be limitations," she says. "But instead of four wolves covering two large sectors, we have three covering three smaller ones, with a fast relief wolf held centrally. Same number of Lycans. Better spread. Faster response." I grit my teeth. "Fast is only useful if they’re reliable." "Correct." No hesitation. Irritating. "Which is why I’ve matched patrols using performance data from the assault course and time trials," she continues. "The data already exists. Previous patrol leads simply haven’t used it properly." A couple of heads turn at that. Grey does not look smug. Worse, she looks factual. "I know who is fastest, who is consistent, and who is best placed to wait in reserve if something happens." That is not what I expected. Apparently, it is not what the others expected either. A couple of heads turn, interest sharpening. The assault course and time trials were not new. We did them every term. Most patrol leads treated the results as training feedback. Grey has turned them into a system. Of course she has. She reaches for another sheet. "The encounter logs from previous years were useful too," she says. "There’s an upturn before a new moon, and again through the darker months, so the rota will shift as we move out of winter." Of course she checked the logs, Calix says. Don’t sound pleased. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "What if someone doesn’t follow it?" I ask. "Changes happen. People swap, get injured, miss shifts, throw the skill balance off. Have you accounted for that?" Grey does not look at her notes this time. "Any changes go through me," she says clearly. "And I will say no if they don’t fit." A few people shift. She keeps going. "This is our school. Our pack away from home, in a sense. We defend its borders, and we do that properly. Safety matters more than convenience, pride, or someone deciding they know better than the rota." Her gaze flicks briefly to mine. There it is. "No Lycan in this room should have a problem with that." She expects compliance because she would give it, Calix says. I exhale through my nose. "You sound very confident," I say, wondering if she remembers she is the lowest rank in the room. "It isn’t confidence," she replies. "It’s accountability." That lands more cleanly than I’d like. "If someone misses patrol, they leave a gap. If they leave a gap, they have let down the school, the rota, and every person relying on them. Everyone here understands that." She glances around the room. "Honour still counts for something." A few people nod. Agreement settles too easily for my liking. They trust her, Calix says. I do not respond. Grey continues, her voice steadier now. "If someone needs support, they call early. They do not wait until it becomes critical. Pride has no place on patrol. Neither does rank. We support each other, or the system fails." She is not looking at her notes anymore. Worse, she does not need them. Calix regards her in a way I do not like. She has done her due diligence. Girls are always more organised, I counter. It can sound good without being good. No, Josh. His voice is calm. Too calm. She leads. I lean back abruptly, irritated with him. "And the newly blended?" someone asks. "Are you putting them on rotation too? Isn’t that precarious?" "Early participation is beneficial," Grey says. "And I speak from experience. They won’t patrol alone. They’ll shadow in low-risk zones, at lower-risk times of the month, with experienced wolves nearby. They’ll learn the boundaries, understand the routes, and build confidence before anyone expects too much of them." She pauses, glancing around the room. "This is not just patrol. It is training. If we do it properly, they become safer, faster and more useful every term." She is not defensive. Just factual. As though she has already lived this plan. The room shifts again, agreement building among my peers. This should have been harder for her. She is a gamma, I mutter. She is worthy of this role, Calix replies. Your grandfather made a good choice. Worthy. That one word lands heavier than anything else. My jaw tightens. She’s just doing her job, I snap back. And yet she is doing it well. I do not answer. Grey looks directly at me. There are no nerves left now. Or if there are, she has buried them somewhere beneath focus, steel and that infuriatingly steady gaze. She has the room. She knows it. Worse, so do I. I break eye contact first. "And if someone ignores all of this?" I ask, sharper now. "Runs solo. Does their own thing." Another challenge. Maybe the last one I have. She does not falter. "Then they are dishonourable," she says, eyes narrowing, "and they are a liability." Her tone is cold. Clean. Certain. "And they will be treated as one." Silence settles. If more gammas carried themselves like that, packs would be better for it, Calix muses. Grey glances around the room. "If there’s nothing else, I’ll circulate the rota tonight. You’ll each have your assignments, and those of your gammas and omegas, before morning." Chairs begin to move. Voices rise around me. "Good plan." "Three sectors makes sense." "Better than last year’s, actually." I stay seated as the room empties, feeling oddly numb. You dismissed her too quickly, Calix says. Because she’s a gamma. There is a pause. And yet that has not limited her. I glance towards the front, where Grey is gathering her notes with steady, careful hands. No gloating. No performance. Just a job done properly. Which is, somehow, worse. I glance towards the front again, where Grey is gathering her notes with steady, careful hands. No gloating. No performance. Just a job done properly. Which is, somehow, worse. You should not make her an enemy, Calix says. I haven’t. Even as I say it, I know it is not true. I have. I turn for the door, jaw tight. My grandfather had chosen well. That is the bitter thing lodged at the back of my throat. Because as I make my way back to my room, one question keeps circling. If this is what a gamma looks like... Then what the hell does that make me? I hadn’t expected it, and it unsettles me more than I care to admit. Is it that she is gamma, Calix asks, or that it is not you? I am annoyed at him too. How am I meant to prove I am worthy of being Dad’s heir, I mutter, pushing my door open, if I am not given a proper chance to demonstrate it? I kick off my shoes and head straight for the fridge, grabbing a cold can of cola. Interesting, Calix says. What? That you still think worthiness is something handed to you through an opportunity. I stop with the can halfway open. She was handed one tonight. No, he replies calmly. She had already earned it. Tonight, people simply noticed. I slump onto the sofa, resting my heels on the coffee table. You judged her by rank, Calix continues. Then she used organisation, discipline and data to lead a room full of alphas and betas. Rank meant very little once she started speaking. I close my eyes and exhale slowly. Misjudging people is a flaw in your character, he adds. Brutal. Worse, accurate. I judged Ophelia by what she didn’t have, I admit, rather than what she did. And she would have made a fine alpha, Calix says. You know that. I growl under my breath, because I do. The fact she could have been the most powerful alpha anywhere is exactly why my older sister turned it down. Power does not make a leader more capable, Calix says, catching the thought. It only makes them more powerful. A power I don’t think anyone else would have turned down. Which is why she was worthy of it. That lands badly. I stare at the unopened can in my hand. Being heir to the largest pack in the country is no small matter, Calix continues. You need to prove to Her that you are worthy. Not because you are the alpha’s son. Not because you want it. Because you can lead. Since when did you switch sides? Would you rather have blind agreement, or honesty that might actually get you somewhere? I snort softly, the edge of a laugh slipping out just as the door opens and Owen steps inside, looking far too pleased with himself. "That was an interesting meeting," Owen says brightly, kicking off his shoes. "It was," I reply. "She’s an interesting girl." I glance at him. "She’s ruthless." My phone vibrates before he can answer. An email. From her. The patrol rota. Already. I open it, and immediately regret doing so. It is clean. Structured. Precise. Colour-coded without being obnoxious. There are notes for live updates, swap requests, relief wolves, risk changes, and somehow a section for weather conditions. "Does she have hobbies?" I mutter. "How has she done this already?" Last year’s rota had taken over a week to appear, and even then, only luck had stopped two rogues crossing fully into the north grounds before anyone realised the coverage had a gap. Owen drops into the chair opposite me, looking far too pleased with the entire world. "Speaking of hobbies. Gym tomorrow? Same time?" "Sure." Good decision, Calix says. I need to get back into it, I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. Focus on myself. Not a gamma from a pack nowhere near ours. Exactly what I have been trying to tell you, Calix sighs. I look back down at the rota. Her name sits at the top of the page. Lyra Grey. Patrol lead. Not acting. Not temporary. Not a mistake. Chosen. Earned. I lock my phone and set it face down on the table. "Five a.m.," I say. Owen nods once. "Five a.m." Good. Discipline, then. If Grey is going to make everyone else better, I will have to make damn sure she does not leave me behind.