AstridOne word: awkward.I don’t know what else to call it. Sitting beside Aiden feels like walking on a tightrope—only instead of a safety net, I’ve got a broken scent mask and thoughts that won’t stop yapping.My back’s ramrod straight, my face blank, but my brain? It’s a full-on whirlwind.Did I spray enough perfume?Can he catch my real scent regardless?What if he already has and is pretending? Would he hate me?Every inch of me is wound tight. I can feel the warmth radiating off him; it makes the air feel too thick to even inhale. His shoulder doesn’t touch mine, but it’s close enough that I can feel the tension. The space between us buzzes with alluring danger, like it’s alive.I sit nervously for about ten minutes before I blurt out, “I need to use the bathroom.”I don’t wait for a response or any form of acknowledgment as I get up and half-run toward the restroom. I only slow down when the glow of the bonfire fades behind me. Then I stop halfway and head to the cold, open q
AstridI drop to my knees, scrubbing my arms, legs—everything—against the damp spot before it dries up.I snatch a pair of leggings off the floor and scrub harder but it's useless.“Come on, come on,” I hiss.It feels like I’m caught in a spiral. One moment I’m celebrating a hard-won victory, and the next, I’m on all fours, scrubbing my rug like a freaking maid. Imagine hopping out of one problem just to land face-first in another—all in one day.Classic Astrid.I glance at the time. It’s 5:30 a.m.Just great.I can’t even take a shower. If I do ,whatever faint trace of false scent still clings to me will be gone, and I need it to hold out through the day. I mean, I have a freaking test to write. So yeah, I’ll just skip showering for one day. Just one sweaty, paranoia-filled, stress-soaked day.I grab my phone and dial my mom.One ring. Two rings. It goes straight to voicemail.Of course, she’s in a meeting. Or sleeping. Or just ignoring my call, which honestly, I wouldn’t blame her f
AstridThe arena is almost empty now, just the quiet buzz of distant conversations and the occasional echo of footsteps bouncing off the high walls. The tension of the fight has long since passed, but my pulse still thrums like I’m stuck in that moment, like my body hasn’t realized it’s over.I should feel proud. I won. I won. But instead, there’s a tight knot in my chest that just won’t go away.The sound of boots crunching toward me makes me turn.Coach.His lips are set in something between a half smile and a frown. He’s never liked me, not really. Always finding a reason to frown at my form, sigh at my hesitation, complain about my lack of instinct.I brace myself for whatever criticism he’s about to throw at me this time.“You did well today new girl,” he says.My brows shoot up and I sit up. The switch-up is just… wow.“Sorry, I didn’t quite hear you,” I say just for the fun of watching his lips twitch.“You heard me,” he mutters.I bite my lip, suppressing a smirk. “All credit
AstridMy eyes meet with Greystone's, and it's safe to say she's not backing down soon. Her brown eyes look almost fiery as she glares. Her jaw clenches. With a low grunt, she rises slowly from the ground, chest puffed while her nose flares.Her steps are wobbly, but then, it'll take more than a few punches for someone like her to back down from me.She circles me, her eyes sweeping over my frame like a hunter marking its prey. I mirror her movements, moving into a half-circle of my own."Do your thing, Kayleigh," I breathe out.It happens immediately. My mind fades into the background. I feel more like a passenger—my vision tunneling, focusing only on our target: Greystone.We lunge at each other simultaneously, fists bared, fingers clawed, teeth gritted.I feel everything—every single movement, every hit—but I'm not the one guiding the attacks. Everything moves in slow motion, and I can already tell what tactic she wants to use. It's like everyone has held their breath. It's even mo
AstridI should be stretching, practicing last-minute moves—I mean, anything but staring and nibbling on my fingers like it's supposed to change my fate.I'm alone in a locker room that smells like sweat and feels stuffy, my thoughts my only companion. From where I'm seated, the noise from the crowd is somewhat muffled, but it does nothing to ease my anxiety.My phone pings. It’s a message from Mom: “Good luck, Ashley. Make sure you win.” I read the message twice before tucking it into my locker.So much for rooting for me... not like I expected more."You're up, new girl," Coach's head pops beside my locker. He’s still refused to call me by my real name.I nod, wipe my sweaty palms on my leggings, and follow him.“This should be an interesting fight,” he chuckles. I don't miss the amusement in his words—or should I say, diss?Please be merciful, Moon Goddess. I've already accepted my failure, but that doesn't mean I don't dread the physical damage someone like Greystone leaves in her
AidenMy shoes click against the floor, cutting through the sterile silence as I move through the hallway. I’ve got better shit to do than sit in this hellhole.My supposed flu was just a ploy to sneak out without raising suspicion. The new lead was too good to ignore. The footage from the night of my mother’s death was wiped, but there’s a copy that still exists. A flash drive in my uncle’s possession.I spent almost three fucking days searching everywhere in his office—drawers, briefcases, even cloud backups—but all I found was irrelevant pack junk, business files. Nothing really useful.My last resort was to check his safes. Three of which I have no access to. Three—that I know of, at least. There might be more, judging by the level of secrecy.Lucas clocked on when I dropped the sick act. My bad for getting sloppy. He’s likely suspected I was up to no good—probably thought I was trying to skip school. Hovered like a hawk. Voice calm, questions casual and minimal. But I knew where