CHAPTER 2: Cracks in the Mask

Elias's Pov

The moment I stepped past Ronan, the hairs on my neck wouldn’t settle. His gaze still felt like a weight between my shoulder blades, but I didn’t look back. Looking back meant acknowledging him. And acknowledging him meant risk.

I pushed deeper into the combat wing, where rows of lockers lined the wall and the scent of metal and sweat mixed with detergent. Voices echoed from the training arena beyond the glass partition; shouts, thuds, the impact of bodies hitting mats. Instinctively, my breathing adjusted to match the room: calm, measured, Alpha.

“Arden!” someone called.

I didn’t bother hiding my annoyance as I turned. Kade Rowan jogged toward me, tall and lean with dark eyes and an easy swagger that made people forget he could dislocate their jaw in two moves. Rank 7. Too observant for comfort.

“You missed morning circuits,” he said, grabbing a towel from a nearby rack. “What happened? Oversleep? Or did you decide the rest of us weren’t worth warming up with?”

“I was busy,” I said.

“With what?” His tone was casual, but his attention wasn’t. His gaze flicked briefly to my wrist, the hand I’d used to steady the suppressant needle minutes ago.

I shifted my weight just slightly, blocking his line of sight. “Don’t wait for me next time. I don’t need a babysitter.”

He smirked. “Good. I’d hate to apply for the position.”

I started to walk away, but he stepped beside me like it was a habit.

“Did you see the new rankings posted this morning?” he asked.

I didn’t respond. That didn’t stop him.

“You’re still second. Ronan’s holding first, obviously.” He paused long enough to glance at me. “Everyone’s talking about it. Bet you could take him down if you stopped holding back.”

I stopped walking.

Kade did too, one brow raised.

Holding back. If only he knew how true that was.

From the corner of my eye, movement flickered in the glass wall to our right. Ronan had entered the training arena. His reflection drifted into view, broad shoulders, dark hair, slow precise walk like he owned every tile under his boots.

Kade noticed my pause and followed my line of sight. “Speak of the devil.”

Ronan didn’t look our way. He was surrounded immediately by a few top ranks, instructors, and admirers circling like planets around a cold sun. He spoke to no one. They still followed.

Kade clicked his tongue. “I don’t get how you two haven’t killed each other yet.”

“Maybe we’re civilized,” I said.

He laughed under his breath. “No one at this academy is civilized.”

I didn’t disagree.

An instructor called Kade’s name from across the room. He clapped my shoulder once and jogged off.

I exhaled slowly before heading into the training arena.

The room was massive; matted floors, practice rings, sparring sectors, reinforced walls. The ceiling lights cast everything in a stark white glow that made it impossible to hide shadows. Alphas trained in pairs and groups, some grappling, some throwing knives at targets, some testing strength equipment.

My gaze swept the perimeter, locating exits automatically. Old habit. Necessary habit.

I took my place with my division. No one spoke to me unless required. That suited me fine.

Instructor Vale, a retired Alpha with scars across his jaw, strode into the center of the floor and barked for attention.

“Pair up. Combat assessment drills start now. No mercy, no excuses.”

The group shifted instantly.

A boy from Rank 10 stepped toward me, then thought better of it and changed course. Another from Rank 6 hesitated, glanced at his friends, then also backed off.

I remained alone. As usual.

Then the air changed.

I didn’t need to turn.

A familiar presence came up behind me, calm, dark, heavy with the kind of confidence that didn’t need to be spoken or proven. My heartbeat stuttered once before resuming its steady pace.

Ronan stepped into my peripheral vision and stopped beside me.

No words. No expression. Just a choice made, silently and deliberately.

The room reacted before I could.

Whispers rose like static.

“They’re pairing?”

“No way…”

“He’s actually gonna fight Arden…”

“Or kill him.”

My spine locked into place. I kept my face blank, but every sense sharpened like a blade.

Instructor Vale barely looked surprised. His gaze flicked from Ronan to me, the faintest interest in his eyes.

“Proceed,” he said.

Ronan turned fully to face me then, his grey eyes unreadable. He didn’t posture. He didn’t smirk. He just watched me with the kind of stillness that felt like pressure on my lungs.

His scent barely registered over the others, controlled to the point of suffocation. Most Alphas projected without effort. Ronan compressed his dominance like a weapon sheathed, but not forgotten.

I stepped onto the mat without speaking. He followed.

We faced each other in the center circle. The noises in the room faded to a dull hum.

My fingers curled once, secretly testing the stability of the suppressant already thinning in my blood. I couldn’t afford to sweat too much. Couldn’t afford a spike in pheromones.

“Try not to bore me,” Ronan said quietly.

The words were soft. Too soft. But they cut through the air more cleanly than a shout.

I met his gaze without flinching. “Try not to bleed.”

A flicker, barely noticeable, passed through his eyes. Interest? Amusement? Challenge? I couldn’t tell.

Instructor Vale signaled.

The match began.

Ronan moved first.

Not with the reckless aggression most Alphas relied on but with speed and precision I’d only seen from three people in my life. His restraint was calculated. His strength, reined in like a wolf on a chain.

I blocked the first strike, countered the second. He dodged effortlessly. Our movements were quiet, surgical, unhurried despite the force behind them.

Around us, other pairs faltered in their matches, eyes dragged to the center mat.

He aimed a kick at my ribs. I twisted, trapped his ankle and nearly swept him down, but he pivoted out of it with expert control.

Minutes passed or maybe seconds.

Then it happened.

A slip.

Not in movement. In scent.

The suppressant wavered inside me, just enough for a trace of something else to escape, faint, diluted, but real.

My stomach dropped.

Ronan’s expression didn’t visibly change. But his eyes;his damned eyes sharpened like the click of a safety being turned off.

In that second, he stopped fighting like an opponent.

He started watching like a predator.

I forced my breathing to steady and launched a strike heavy enough to distract him. He blocked it, but the impact jolted through his arm. I used the moment to increase distance, forcing my body back under control, clamping down on every stray instinct that wanted to surge forward and submit.

My pulse thudded once. Twice.

He lowered his hands slightly, not out of surrender, but assessment.

Someone nearby whispered, “Shit.”

They didn’t know what happened.

He did.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t expose me.

He only looked at me like the clock between us had started ticking.

And he was waiting for it to run out.