Page 148 of Hard Knot

"Good morning," the man begins, his voice carrying that particular authority of someone used to being listened to. "I'm Professor Richardson from Juilliard's School of Dance. I'm here today to observe a specific rendition incorporating two distinct dance styles."

My heart skips a beat.

Juilliard.

The dream school any dancer wishes to get into. I'd abandoned the mere possibility along with Harvard after everything that ensued when I became an Omega.

"How long do we have to prepare?" Someone calls from the crowd.

"There is no preparation time," Richardson replies, a slight smile playing on his lips. "This will be an impromptu performance. We expect the dancing partners to collaborate spontaneously, demonstrating their ability to adapt and create in real-time."

Another Omega raises her hand.

"So we need partners? This isn't a solo audition?"

"Correct. This is specifically to evaluate partnership dynamics and stylistic fusion."

Several pairs of eyes turn in my direction, and I fight to keep my expression neutral even as my shoulders drop slightly.

Without a regular partner, without time to practice...

Just another opportunity I'll have to watch pass by.

The familiar weight of disappointment settles in my chest, but I refuse to let it show on my face. Five years of practice helps me maintain the mask of indifference, even as my mind races with what could have been.

There’s no point in getting down about it. Another opportunity will come.

So I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and prepare to watch others take advantage of an opportunity I would have killed for back at Harvard.

It's fine. I'm used to this by now.

Used to being the observer rather than the performer…staying in my assigned lane.

James' arm tightens almost imperceptibly around my waist, and something in the gesture makes me glance up at him. The look in his eyes catches me off guard — that familiar competitive spark I remember from our school days, mixed with something darker, more determined.

He's planning something.

I can see it in the way his jaw sets, in the slight straightening of his shoulders. It's the same look he used to get right before challenging me to some impossible academic feat.

But before I can decipher his expression, Richardson continues speaking, and I force myself to pay attention.

"Would anyone like to take up this challenge?" Richardson asks again, his words met with hesitant silence.

"My Omega and packmate probably have something up their sleeves," Carter calls out suddenly, gesturing toward us.

A gasp escapes me as I turn to glare at him, but James is already moving, tugging me forward into the waiting spotlight. The stage feels different from up here — more intimate somehow, despite the audience's expectant stares.

"Actually," James says, his voice carrying that confident edge I remember from our academic showdowns, "we do have an arrangement in mind. One my Omega previously performed, though it seemed to not meet certain...standards at the time."

My eyes widen as I whip my head around to stare at him.

"How do you know about that?" I whisper urgently.

His lips quirk into a small smile.

"Carter showed me the video after Felix brought it up a few weeks ago. Said he first noticed you dancing 'some cool mix' that caught his eye, but the judges were bitches about it."

He says that last part deliberately loud, earning pointed glares from the regular judges. But I notice Richardson's lips twitching with poorly concealed amusement before he gestures toward center stage.

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