POV: Lena Parker
Ravencrest Academy smelled like pine, floor cleaner, cold stone, and absolutely nothing like Damon.
For the first week, that alone felt like freedom.
I filled every hour I could. My transfer placed me in the academy's advanced sports therapy track, so I volunteered for early rounds, late lab sessions, and the heaviest contact-sport rotation available. If I stayed busy enough, I didn't have time to wonder what was happening in Blackridge.
My new clinical director asked whether I wanted a lighter adjustment period.
I said no.
At Blackridge Sports Medicine, my schedule had revolved around one Alpha. At Ravencrest, I wanted to prove I could handle anyone.
Three weeks into the term, I got my chance.
"Parker, tighter on the wrist," Jax Reynolds said from the treatment bench.
The senior forward had hands the size of dinner plates and the pain tolerance of a brick wall.
"Any tighter and you won't have fingers by warm-up," I said, smoothing the final strip of tape. "If you want to keep feeling the stick in your hand, leave it alone."
Jax flexed experimentally, then grinned. "Fair. Thanks, doc."
"Not a doctor."
"You yell like one."
"Go before I redo it looser."
He laughed and left.
A sprint athlete replaced him with a hamstring complaint. Then a defender needed an abrasion cleaned. Then Coach Miller called us to the indoor turf for a full-contact scrimmage.
The work was relentless.
I loved it.
Halfway through the scrimmage, two players collided near midfield. One bounced upright. Kaelen Rhodes, a starting forward, stayed down with both hands around his knee.
Coach Miller blew the whistle.
I was already moving.
"Give him space," I called as I dropped beside Kaelen.
His wolf flashed close to the surface, his eyes bright gold with pain.
"Don't touch it," he growled.
"Then tell me where it hurts."
"Everywhere."
"Useful. Look at me. Did you feel a pop?"
He swallowed. "More like it slid."
That mattered.
I stabilized his thigh, then tested the joint carefully. Swelling was already forming, but I didn't feel the loose movement I feared from a complete ligament tear.
"Kaelen, this will hurt for two seconds."
"That is never a comforting sentence."
"Two seconds."
I checked the kneecap and surrounding structures.
He hissed but stayed still.
"Patellar subluxation," I said. "It slipped partially out and reduced on its own. I don't feel major instability in the ACL or MCL, but you're getting imaging before anyone lets you train again."
Coach Miller crouched beside us. "Surgery?"
"Not if the MRI looks the way I think it will. Immobilize, ice, no weight-bearing until we know more."
The medical cart arrived.
As they lifted Kaelen, Coach Miller stayed beside me.
"Good assessment," he said. "You didn't let the crowd rush you."
Praise from him was rare enough that I almost checked whether he had a fever.
"Thank you."
"You belong on a field crew, Parker. Don't bury yourself in private clinic work."
The sentence followed me all afternoon.
At Blackridge, a poisonous little part of me had always wondered whether I was good because Damon needed me to be. He requested my sessions. He praised my hands. He brought influential trainers into the clinic and told them to watch me work.
Maybe I had mistaken his dependence for proof of talent.
Ravencrest was different.
No one here cared who my mate was.
No one even knew until the rumors eventually reached campus.
My work stood on its own.
I started keeping a private notebook of cases I wanted to study later: shoulder instability, patellar tracking, post-concussion balance testing, return-to-play protocols. For the first time, my career goals filled pages without Damon's name appearing once.
By the first heavy snowfall, I had stopped checking Blackridge news every night. The mate bond still ached in quiet moments, but it no longer decided the shape of my day.
Then the Winter Games assignments went up.
Students crowded the digital board outside the medical sciences building. The Four-Pack Winter Games were the academy's biggest event, drawing scouts, elite teams, and pack medical directors from across the region.
I scanned for my name.
TEAM ALPHA - LEAD STUDENT THERAPIST: LENA PARKER.
My stomach flipped with excitement.
Top bracket.
Lead position.
Exactly what I had worked for.
Then I read the next line.
PRIMARY DELEGATION: BLACKRIDGE.
VIP ATHLETE: ALPHA DAMON BLACKWOOD.
The paper cup slipped out of my hand and hit the floor.
Coffee splashed across my boots.
I barely noticed.
My wolf had already recognized his name. The bond, quiet for weeks, pulled tight enough to make me dizzy.
I walked straight to Dr. Evans's office.
He looked up from a stack of files as I entered. "Congratulations. Coach Miller specifically asked for you."
I set a recusal request on his desk.
His brows rose.
"I need another assignment."
"Why?"
"Conflict of interest. I'm from Blackridge. Their Alpha and I have history."
Dr. Evans read the form, then looked at me over his glasses.
"Can you treat him objectively?"
I wanted to say no.
I wanted to move to junior varsity, where nobody carried cedar in his skin or my history in his hands.
Then I pictured giving up the best assignment in the program because Damon might walk into the room.
I had already left one school because of him.
I wasn't letting him move me twice.
I took the form back.
Dr. Evans said nothing while I tore it in half.
Then he slid the acceptance roster across the desk.
I signed.
"Good," he said. "You'll supervise the primary medical station for all four captain-level athletes during opening week. Staffing is tight, so Blackridge won't be your only headache."
I looked up. "All four captains?"
"Blackridge, Northern Ridge, Ironwood, and Silverlake. Their medical clearances are grouped under your station."
Four rival Alphas in one bracket.
One of them was the man I had crossed an entire territory to escape.
Dr. Evans closed the folder.
"Opening camp starts Monday at seven."
I picked up my copy of the roster.
Damon's name sat at the top.
For the first time since leaving Blackridge, I knew exactly when I would see him again.
