Chapter 172
The morning sunlight filtered through the grand glass panels of the training hall, spilling golden light across the polished floors like melted honey. It was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of bodies in motion—footsteps shuffling, punches landing, breaths catching. The scent of cedarwood and faint sweat lingered in the air, sharp but not unpleasant. There was energy today. Buzzing, alive.
I stood by the edge of the floor, adjusting the wraps on my hands. The cloth was coarse against my skin, biting into the small calluses forming from weeks of non-stop drills. My heart thudded—not from nerves, but something more electric. Today wasn’t just any training session. Today was the summit’s one-on-one sparring matches. Meant to test reflexes, instinct, and endurance. It was my element.
Anna jogged up to my side, her black curls bouncing in rhythm. “Ready to kick some ass?”
I smirked. “Born ready.”
A loud whistle cut through the air, and one of the coordinators called out names and ring assignments. The other junior ambassadors gathered, stretching and pacing, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. We were warriors dressed in sneakers and tank tops, but warriors nonetheless.
And then I saw him—Alex.
He moved like liquid steel—fluid yet restrained, graceful but deadly. His jawline was sharp, dusted with stubble, and his eyes were this unsettling gray-blue that seemed to look right through you. Quiet. Calm. Focused. Every movement was deliberate as he shadowboxed in the corner, lost in a rhythm only he understood.
Anna noticed too. “Tell me I’m not the only one staring.”
“You’re definitely not,” I murmured, watching the way the light kissed the strong curve of his neck. There was something enigmatic about him—dangerous and quiet. It tugged at something deep in my chest.
“Astrid,” the coordinator barked, pulling me from my daze. “Ring three.”
I walked across the mat, heart steady. I didn’t bother scanning the crowd—until I felt it. **His** gaze. Jeremiah.
He stood with the other judges near the far side of the hall, arms folded, eyes unreadable. But when our eyes met, a storm brewed behind his composed exterior. His jaw was clenched, shoulders tense. He didn’t look at anyone else that way.
My opponent was lean and fast—an ambassador from the Eastern border packs. We nodded respectfully to each other, but when the whistle blew, the courtesy vanished.
We moved in sync—him launching strikes, me blocking and dodging. I ducked low, spinning into a counter-kick, the edge of my foot grazing his rib. He staggered but came back harder. It was a dance, violent and beautiful, and I was in my element.
A glancing blow nicked my shoulder, but I twisted behind him, swept his leg, and pinned him in a clean takedown. The whistle sounded. Match over.
Breathless, I helped him up.
“Well fought,” he panted.
“You too.”
As I stepped out of the ring, I spotted Jeremiah again. His eyes burned holes into Alex, who had just finished his own spar, shirt slightly damp, hair tousled, and skin glistening from the effort. He passed by our group, nodding in my direction.
“Not bad,” Alex said, pausing beside me. “Good game.”
“Thanks,” I said, blinking.
His gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, flickering from my lips to my eyes before he moved on. My heart kicked a little harder in my chest.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw **Jeremiah’s hand clench into a fist**. He turned sharply and walked off, his expression darkening like a brewing storm.
Later that evening, the common lounge buzzed with life. Firelight danced in the hearth, casting warm shadows across tired bodies sprawled on beanbags and couches. Anna, Tomas, and I claimed a corner near the snack table, sharing bites of fruit and trading jokes about who fell the hardest during the obstacle course earlier.
“You were such a show-off,” Tomas teased, nudging me.
“She flipped him. Like, fully flipped him,” Anna added, still impressed.
I laughed, wiping fruit juice from my lips with the back of my hand. “It was instinct.”
“Instinct my ass. You’ve got assassin training,” Tomas said.
Before I could retort, Alex approached. His hoodie was low over his forehead, hands tucked casually into his pockets. Still damp hair curled around his ears. A few people watched him pass. He was that kind of guy.
“Mind if I join?” he asked, voice low and steady.
Anna and Tomas glanced at me with amused curiosity.
“Not at all,” I said, gesturing to the empty spot beside me.
He lowered himself onto the cushion, the scent of soap and cedar clinging to his skin.
“You were impressive today,” he said, his gaze locked on mine.
“So were you,” I replied, holding his gaze longer than I probably should’ve.
“You fight like someone who doesn’t hesitate,” he said. “That’s rare.”
My heart thudded. “I’ve learned that hesitation costs more than mistakes.”
That made him pause. He studied me for a moment, like he was trying to read a code etched beneath my skin. His presence was calm, but intense, like a held breath before a storm.
As we all fell into conversation, the tension melted into comfort. We laughed. We shared stupid stories from our childhood packs. Tomas joked too much, Anna rolled her eyes dramatically, and I, for the first time in what felt like forever, forgot about Jeremiah. Almost.
Until I felt it again.
That stare.
I turned slowly toward the far side of the lounge. Jeremiah stood against the pillar, half-shadowed by the flickering firelight. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t mingling. His eyes were on us—on me and Alex.
His gaze was sharp, cutting through the room like a dagger dipped in rage and regret. His expression betrayed him—tight jaw, furrowed brow, barely restrained tension. His hand flexed at his side. One step closer and I could practically hear the grinding of his teeth.
I looked away.
“What’s his deal?” Tomas whispered to Anna.
Anna shrugged. “Alpha things.”
I forced a smile, masking the way my skin buzzed under Jeremiah’s scrutiny. Let him look. Let him fume. I had spent days trying to fix what he refused to acknowledge.
Now, someone else saw me.
Alex turned to me again, his knee brushing against mine. “What brings you here, Astrid? I don’t think you’re just here to play games.”
There it was—that strange, warm pull low in my belly. I held his gaze, letting a small smile curl at my lips.
“I guess I’m here to prove something,” I said softly. “To myself.”
He nodded slowly, like he understood too well. “Then we’re not so different.”
And as the fire crackled and laughter rose around us, I let myself lean into the moment. The tension. The newness. The possibility.
Even if someone else burned with jealousy across the room.
Let him burn.
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