Page 18 of What We Don't Say: Part One

Callie holds his gaze for a second, then nods as if that lands somewhere useful. “Okay. Something soft, then.”

“And I need a shirt,” I say, because if the morning is going to hand me an errand that isn’t another trip around my owninstincts, I’m taking it. “Something that says welcoming Alpha, minimal threat.”

Callie’s eyes move over me with enough open skepticism to make my chest warm. “You own at least three shirts that say maximal threat.”

“Exactly. Emergency shopping.”

Idris reaches for his coffee from the dresser where he abandoned it earlier. “I’m not buying clothes.”

Callie turns toward him with the kind of quiet patience she uses on students who have interestingly missed the point. “You were planning to meet a nervous Omega in black?”

Idris looks down at himself. His shirt is black. His slacks are black. His expression barely changes, but I can feel the exact second he realizes he’s lost. “Garrett,” he says, without looking away from Callie, “choose one of the shops that require an appointment.”

Garrett already has his phone in his hand.

Sloane

Garrett takes us toMarlowe & Finch, the same place he dragged me three months ago when I needed a suit for a Keller Foundation dinner and refused to admit the one I owned no longer fit across the shoulders.

I remember standing in front of the mirror while Garrett adjusted my collar with two fingers and told me, very calmly, that a grown Alpha could survive tailoring. I’d still rather be at the thrift shop near campus, where Callie once found me a soft green button-down for twelve dollars and looked pleased everytime I wore it, but today isn’t about what I like. It’s about what Theo sees first.

Unfortunately, it’s also about what Bellwether sees and if they think we can provide for an Omega. Callie pauses outside the door, looking at the gold lettering on the glass and then down at the sweater she’s been cleaning in all morning. “This feels like a lot for one shirt.”

“It’s not only one shirt,” Garrett says, opening the door for her. “It’s the first impression we control.” She glances at him, and he softens the words before they can turn too formal. “Comfort, sweetheart. That’s all.”

The clerk recognizes Garrett before the door finishes closing. “Mr. Crane. Back suite?”

“Please.” Garrett keeps his hand at Callie’s back, light enough that she can move away if she wants to. “Soft fabrics for Calliope and Sloane first. Nothing stiff from dry cleaning, nothing formal enough to feel like an interview. Comfortable, warm, and loose for a wide range of movement.”

Callie looks up at him. “You’re making it sound like we’re the ones being placed.”

“I’m making sure you don’t spend the next hour choosing something because you think you should look useful.” Garrett’s thumb moves once at her back. “Choose what feels like you, sweetheart. That’s the point.”

Her mouth softens as she looks toward the nearest rack instead of arguing. “Gray for Sloane,” she says after a second. “Maybe green. Nothing too sharp.”

Garrett nods to the clerk. “You heard her.”

“For Mr. Ward?” the clerk asks.

Idris answers before anyone else can. “I’m fine.”

Callie turns slowly, taking in his expression he uses when he thinks his decision has already become law. “You aren't meeting Theo dressed like bad news.”

Garrett’s mouth curves, but his voice stays warm when he looks back to the clerk. “Bring options for Idris too. Dark is fine. Softer than this.”

Idris holds Garrett’s stare for a long second, then looks at Callie and loses without another word. By the time we step into the back suite, she’s already touching the sleeve of a blue-green top someone brought for her, and Garrett has gone quiet in the satisfied way he gets when the plan is moving and no one had to be forced into it.

However, the first shirt I try is wrong before I finish the buttons. It sits too sharp across my shoulders, too stiff through the collar, like something I’d wear to make someone nervous on purpose. Callie tries to be kind about it, which tells me everything faster than if she’d hated it out loud.

“No?” I ask, smoothing a hand down the front.

She tilts her head, studying me with real effort. “It’s not bad. It just looks… formal.”

Garrett glances up from his phone. “Too formal for a first meeting with someone who’s already been handled by too many systems.”

Callie nods as I start unbuttoning before anyone has to say more. The second shirt is dark and fitted, better through the shoulders, but Idris studies it with quiet disapproval.

“You don’t like this one either,” I say.