Page 18 of The Fake Divination Offense
Maybe I do like her.
Drach’s face flushes but he doesn’t back down. “In due time.”
Wait—Urzoth’s bad press? Does she mean that nonsense with the Galaxrien cultists?
Once Roesia regains command of the room, she looks at me again. “One of the things that had the Hellhounds most interested in you is how adored you are by the public. I do not believe you will be down for long, no matter the opinions being bandied around. That being said, this is an incredibly important year for the Hellhounds. With our roster, we are poised to bring home the championship win for the first time in more than a decade—which is why we invited you on board. Your talent is one of the many pieces that will go toward reasserting the Hellhounds’ place in rawball history.”
The Hellhounds might not have taken home the end-of-season championship in years, but they’ve still ranked well in other regards. Of course, all players hope their team will make it, but with everything else going on, I hadn’t let myself dream that far ahead.
The Chimeras won it last year. But it never felt like it’s any partmywin.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, sincerity prickling through me. “I’m ready to put in the work.”
“I’m glad to hear it. All eyes will be on the Hellhounds—and as such, we cannot afford bad press.”
My shoulders flinch. “I know, ma’am. And I apologize for the negative—”
She waves her hand. “Do not apologize, Mr. Monroe. You helped weed out unworthy members of the magical community. You have done nothing wrong.”
My eyes widen.
She… she supports me?
Gratitude tries to make my chest take flight, and I barely restrain myself from blubbering embarrassing thanks. The backs of my eyes heat and I blink quickly, refusing to tear up here, now.
But if Roesia believes me, if she’s on my side, then the rest of the team’s management probably is, too. And they won’t tolerate the other players being dicks about it.
My hands unclench for the first time since—gods. Maybe they’ve been clenched since the lawsuit began.
But Drach aggressively clears his throat again, sitting up taller, making himself look bigger. It sucks some of this supportive energy right out of the room.
For being allbrute strength above all, no one does passive aggression like Urzoth worshippers.
Roesia looks briefly annoyed, but she smooths her expression and picks a nonexistent piece of lint off her pants. “As I was saying,” she continues, “we cannot afford bad press. Which means all such instances are being taken with the utmost seriousness. Therefore, we will be working toward changing how the public views you—and you, inadvertently, gave us the perfect way of doing so.”
“I did?”
Roesia picks up a tablet from the coffee table between us. She taps a button and speaks into it, “Ask Mr. Warden to begin makinghis way up here,” and then clicks at different things on the screen. “Are you on social media?”
She’s talking to me again. “No, ma’am.”
“Good. Don’t bother; we have a whole department whose job it is to juggle that world. But apparently, last night, you made quite an impact on several outlets.”
Roesia turns the tablet to face me and my head tilts in confusion.
It’s a picture of me with Alexo.
The two of us are talking close, bent into each other, so it must’ve been after the guy left.
At the sight of Alexo, my skin grows hot, and something dangerously close to possession frissons through my body.
I knew people took pictures of us. Between the hangover and this meeting, I hadn’t gotten to the realization that I couldaccessthose pictures. That I could see him again.
But just as quickly, I run my tongue over my teeth. These pictures areonline. And the way Roesia’s talked, they’reeverywhereonline. Strangers are goggling at us, atAlexo.
My arms cramp with the sudden instinct to dive in front of an attack, only the target isn’t here, and the threat is in the ether.
“Urzoth works through you,” Drach says, noting my tension, and it forces me to relax.
