Page 77 of False Catch

My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression neutral. "We're working through some coordination issues."

"Coordination issues?" Torres pushes off from the shed, moving closer. "Callahan, your stroke rate was all over the map. Your power curve looked like a seismograph during an earthquake. And the way your crew moves around you on land..." She shakes her head. "That's not coordination issues. That's biological warfare."

The bottom drops out of my stomach. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you know exactly what I mean." Her voice remains conversational, but there's steel underneath. "You've got eight Alphas fighting instincts they don't understand while trying to row with an Omega whose scent is driving them insane. Even through whatever industrial-strength suppressants you're using."

I open my mouth to deny it, but she holds up a hand.

"Don't insult my intelligence. I've been supervising collegiate athletes for twelve years. I know what designation masking looks like, and I know what early pack formation smells like." She crosses her arms, studying me with what might be professional interest or personal concern. "The question is what I'm going to put in my report."

My throat feels tight. "What are you going to put in your report?"

"That depends." She tilts her head, considering. "How long have you been an Omega?"

The direct question catches me off guard. After weeks of careful deflection and strategic misdirection, her bluntness feels almost like relief.

"Always," I answer quietly.

"How long have you been hiding it?"

"Since I hit puberty at twelve."

She nods, unsurprised. "Family pressure?"

"Traditional expectations." The words are acid in my mouth. Old wounds I’d rather not revisit. "Omegas obey. They don't command Alphas. They don't pursue athletic careers. And Omegas certainly don't cox men's crews."

"No, they don't." Torres agrees. "Which makes what you've accomplished fairly remarkable."

The unexpected compliment throws me. "What I've accomplished?"

"You've taken eight elite Alpha athletes who were coasting at the lowest end of their abilities and turned them into a powerhouse in less than a month. You've maintained your cover despite physical pulls that should have exposed you weeks ago. And you've managed to keep them focused on performance instead of territorial pissing matches. For the most part." She pauses. "That takes serious skill."

"Or serious luck."

"Luck doesn't create the kind of synchronization I observed the other day in the tanks. That was instincts and training working in harmony." Torres leans back against the shed. "But it's also unsustainable."

My chest tightens. "What do you mean?"

"I mean pack formation is an accelerating process. The more time you spend together, the stronger the bonds become, the harder they are to hide." Her voice softens slightly. "How many of them have knotted you?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "That's none of your business."

"It becomes my business when it affects team performance and university compliance." But her tone isn't accusatory. It's almost... understanding. "Look, Callahan, I'm not your enemy here. But I am required to file reports, and those reports need to reflect reality."

"So you're going to turn us in?"

"I'm going to tell you something about reality first." Torres checks her watch then looks around the area, ensuring we still have privacy. "The problem has never been about bonds, Reese. It's about the problems that can happen when Alphas can't get their heads out of their asses and Omegas can't find their voice to get them under control."

The shift to my first name feels significant, like she's speaking to me as a person rather than a problem to solve.

"Omegas aren't weak," she continues. "They're stronger than anyone gives them credit for because they're the ones facilitating and strengthening the bonds. I know you think that what's happening between all of you is something bad or dangerous, but it's only that if you don't get it under control."

I just stare at her, unsure of what to say as the weight of her words settle on my shoulders.

"But I also know what I see when you're all together." Her voice takes on an almost wistful quality. "Those men care for you whether they admit it or not. I saw the way they formed a pack around you, how they protect you with everything they have. You could be something amazing if you can just figure it out. And I'm hoping you do."

My lip hurts from how much I’m chewing on it to bite back the arguments I want to make. Because there’s no condemnation in her tone. Just a wistfulness that sounds suspiciously like hope.