Page 66 of Citius

Owen gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “I’d like you to consider a dedicated sub-group for vibration therapy. There’s a lot to unpack there.”

He stood up and straightened his suit jacket, eyes cheating in my direction for a split second. Even the briefest glance from Owen was as piercing as an arrow—sharp, deliberate, and impossible to ignore—even when paired with a smug little smile.

“Nice work.”

Friendly arrows, I reminded myself as I slid my laptop into my bag,can also leave scars.

Owen departed, and most of the Redwing staff soon followed. Our team began to gather their belongings, planning to go out for dinner and drinks to celebrate.

“Sorry guys, not tonight,” Cal said while I was still trying to string a polite refusal together. “I’ve got plans. Taking Morgan back to campus on the way.”

Did Cal turn into an entirely different alpha when he wore a suit? Did shaving alter his brain chemistry? I purposefully avoided riding over with him, and I sure as hell didn’t ask him for a ride back.

Cal ignored my hard stare, content to flip through his notes, pausing to circle the occasional bullet point, waving goodbye to his staff as they departed in twos and threes.

“I’m getting a rideshare,” I said as soon as Talia and the others were out of earshot.

Cal crossed out a bullet point, not even bothering to spare a glance in my direction. “That’s not necessary.”

Anger tried to force its way through my gritted teeth. “Not your decision to make.”

“It is today.” He dug the tip of his pen deep into the paper as he underlined a few words.

I was tired. So tired. Sick of pretending that I wasn’t fueled by pure, undiluted defiance.

My hand shot out, as if of its own volition, slamming against the center of the page, knocking the legal pad out of his hands. The cardboard backing smacked against the table with a dull thud.

Cal clicked his retractable pen half a dozen times before angling his chair toward me. Unfazed by my wretched expression, he tapped his pen against the legal pad.

“Anything to add?”

I looked down, stupefied by the words beneath my fingers. They weren’t meeting notes. It was a hit list for Coach Garvey’s career.

Omega affairs office: Demand thorough investigation. Other victims?

Ethics committee: Ensure performance reviews until the heat death of the universe.

President: Apply pressure until fired. Fund male omega dorm?

Anya: Call in favor—professional exile?

CVC III: Liquify his spine. Fists = greater satisfaction?

It was official. No more suits for Cal.

“Think it over. We’ve got plenty of time.” He stood up, stretching his arms overhead, then loosened his tie. “Do you want Indian food? Could eat my weight in samosas right now.”

“What?”

“My plans for tonight…” A crooked smile weighed heavily on his face. I wasn’t the only one drained by the day’s events. “They all revolve around you, Dr. Van Daal.”

Twenty

Morgan

Istood in the lobby of Tolliver Yards, digging my nails into the side of my phone case. Even taking my evening pills after Cal had dropped me off hadn’t taken the edge off. Nor had putting on my slouchiest, most oversized sweater and favorite pair of leggings—not when I wished I had Tabitha Redmond’s woolen bit of heaven.

My phone buzzed with constant updates from the sibling group chat. Audra and Ethan had signed up for the Millwright Marathon, sparking a flurry of plans for the inevitable family invasion. Restaurant suggestions poured in alongside ideas for family-friendly activities. Even Kelsey, who was busy networking at a small business event, found time to share a few links.

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