Page 154 of Citius

Bolstered by a jolt of adrenaline, I grabbed my laptop and hurried after him.

“What’s this about?” Reyhan asked as we rushed down the hall.

“No idea.” At least I wasn’t getting fired. Yet.

Dr. McEwen projected the player injury list on the conference room wall monitor. Tyler’s name was still there—along with a startling number of new additions.

“Half the starting defensive line is out,” Dr. McEwen said, highlighting their names. “And except for Amir’s sprained ankle, all the injuries were incurredafterthe last game.”

That was the equivalent of a starting player getting benched every day this week. Reyhan and I exchanged worried glances. What the hell was going on?

“This isn’t normal,” Dr. McEwen said. “So, explain it to me.

Reyhan’s professional pride got the better of him. “We didn’t—”

“Not pointing fingers, Parsha. I’m asking for your opinion as a medical professional.”

Reyhan tried his best, offering a few muddled theories. Maybe the defensive coaches pushed the players too hard, or the team wasn’t doing enough stretches. Nothing that made sense.

Meanwhile, I opened my laptop and pulled up the pheromone exposure record for the injured players.

It was what I suspected. Except for Amir, each player encountered a pheromone bomb just before getting injured.

“Van Daal?” Dr. McEwen prompted, shifting his focus to me.

I needed to tread carefully. Not only was I bound by an NDA, but I wasn’t authorized to disclose PheroPass data to third parties.

“You should talk to Cal.”

Dr. McEwen let out a dubious huff. “What’s Carling got to do with this?”

I changed my approach slightly. “There’s data I’m not authorized to use in a clinical setting for diagnostic purposes, but…”

“Spit it out, Van Daal.” It wasn’t a bark—but it was damn close.

Reyhan shifted lower in his chair, his head bowed in submission, with his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. I was less affected—a surprising bonus of frequent exposure to Cal’s friendly yet firm brand of dominance.

But that didn’t make me immune.

“This cannot leave the room,” I said, emphasizing each word. “But there’s reason to suspect someone is subjecting the defensive players to pheromone intimidation. I reported it to Redwing a few weeks ago.”

My words sucked all the air out of the room. Reyhan went slack, his mouth hanging open as he stared at me in disbelief. As a beta, pheromone intimidation was more of a foreign concept than for alphas or omegas, but it was still something to fear.

Darkness swarmed Dr. McEwen’s face. “Did Redwing report it to the coaching staff?”

“Yes,” I said reluctantly, “they did.”

Dr. McEwen fought to contain his frustration, knocking his palm against the table. “Set up a meeting with Carling. I want to talk to him myself.”

“On it.” I pulled out my phone, nearly dropping it as I composed a typo-laden email to Cal, ignoring the foreboding tingles in my legs and the tightness winding through my gut.

What a shitshow—but the day wasn’t over yet. I still had a women’s basketball game to get through.

***

After finding a spot in the far corner of the Rhine Fieldhouse parking lot, I took a few minutes to wolf down the protein bar—and made the mistake of checking my personal email.

The first message was a polite rejection from a hospital upstate. No big deal. They hadn’t even invited me for an interview.

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