MasukTamine’s POVThe espresso machine screamed, a high-pitched hiss of steam that mirrored the violent, frantic noise inside my own head."Jordan, you're burning the milk again."Marcus reached past me, firmly turning the steam dial off. He pulled the stainless steel pitcher away, setting it on the counter. "Go take five. You've been staring at the wall for ten minutes. You look like you're about to throw up.""I'm fine," I lied automatically, my voice a dull, hollow scrape. "Just a long day."It was 1:00 AM on Saturday. The guilt of snapping at Evans on the phone was a physical weight, pressing so heavily against my ribs I could barely breathe. I had hung up on him. I had built the wall exactly where I promised I wouldn't.But every time I closed my eyes, I saw the black American Express card hidden in my wallet. I owed Atlas Thorpe four thousand, eight hundred and fifty dollars. I was trading one billionaire’s cage for another’s debt.I stepped away from the counter, wiping my damp hand
I didn't run to the dorm. I walked. I walked through the freezing morning air, my hand clenched tightly around the metal card in my pocket. Atlas had done it. He had taken his billionaire father's invisible, suffocating cage and smashed it with a single swipe.I reached my dorm building. I pulled my plastic keycard out, my heart stuttering against my ribs as I pressed it against the black scanner.Beep.The light flashed a brilliant, beautiful green.The heavy magnetic lock clicked open.I pushed through the door, walked up to the third floor, and let myself into my tiny, cramped room. It looked exactly as I had left it. My drafting supplies, my clean clothes, my narrow twin bed.I locked the door behind me, slid down the wood until I hit the floor, and finally let myself cry. They were ugly, exhausted, violently relieved tears. I had survived the siege.An hour later, after a scalding hot shower and a change of clothes, I walked into the architecture studio.The room was buzzing with
"You shouldn't drink black coffee this late, Atlas," I said, my voice raspy. "It'll stunt your growth."Atlas whipped his head around.The irritated scowl on his face instantly vanished. His dark eyes locked onto me, sweeping over my pale face, my shivering frame, and the stained apron tied around my waist. The shock was visceral."Tamine?" Atlas breathed, completely ignoring Marcus handing him his cup. He stepped away from the counter, closing the distance between us in three long strides.He stopped a foot away, his eyes narrowing into sharp, calculating slits as he took in the absolute wreck of my physical appearance."What happened to you?" Atlas demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "You look like a walking corpse. Are you sick?""Midterms," I deflected automatically, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the shaking. "Architecture is demanding. What are you doing in Chicago?""We played Northwestern this afternoon," he said impatiently, not taking his eyes off my face. "Don't
Tamine’s POVFriday. 5:00 PM.The deadline.I stood in the entryway of my dorm building. My heavy canvas bag was slung over my shoulder. In my right hand, I held my plastic university ID card.The rain from earlier in the week had cleared, leaving behind a bitter, biting cold that signaled the true beginning of the Chicago winter.I took a deep breath, my hand shaking violently, and pressed my ID card against the black security scanner next to the heavy glass doors.Beep-beep.The light flashed red.The heavy magnetic lock didn't click. The door didn't open.My heart completely stopped. I stared at the red light, a cold, absolute terror seizing my lungs."No," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Please."I pressed the card against the scanner again, rubbing it frantically against my jeans first.Beep-beep. Red light.They had done it. The financial aid office had officially processed the eviction. My keycard was deactivated. All of my clothes, my textbooks, and my drafting supplies for t
Incoming Call: Evans.I stared at the screen. I couldn't do the fake smile today. I didn't have the energy to pitch my voice an octave higher and pretend everything was fine.But if I didn't answer, he would worry. And if he worried, he lost focus on the ice.I took a slow, jagged breath, swiped the green icon, and pressed the phone to my ear."Hey," I murmured."Hey, sunshine," Evans's voice was loud, vibrating with an adrenaline-fueled energy that felt completely alien to my exhausted reality. "I only have five minutes before film review, but I had to call you. Kavanagh just posted the roster for the exhibition game against Michigan this weekend.""Did you make the cut?" I asked, forcing a supportive tone through my raw throat."I'm starting center," Evans said, a fierce, undeniable pride radiating through the speaker. "First line. As a freshman. It’s unheard of, Tamine. The scouts are going to be swarming the glass.""Evans, that's incredible," I said, closing my eyes. "I'm so prou
I looked into his green eyes, completely entirely tethered to my promise. No Thorpe money. If I told him, he would blow up his life in Boston to save mine in Chicago. He would fight his father, he would lose his focus on the ice, and Kavanagh would destroy his draft ranking.I couldn't let Richard Thorpe destroy us both."The midterm is great," I lied, my voice steady, my smile completely fixed. "Chloe is a bit of a handful, but the structural design is solid. And my dorm is fine. Everything is fine, Evans."Evans stared at me through the screen for a long, heavy second. His brow furrowed slightly. He was exhausted, but his instincts were still razor-sharp."You look pale, Tamine," he noted gently. "Are you sleeping? You aren't pulling all-nighters at that coffee shop, are you?""Just a few late shifts," I deflected quickly. "You know how architecture programs are. Sleep is a myth. But I'm okay. I promise.""Okay," Evans breathed, though he didn't look entirely convinced. "Just... don
Monday Morning, 7:55 AM.Dean Vance's office was quiet. The secretary looked up, startled, as the door opened.She expected a cowering scholarship student.Instead, she got a phalanx.Ryker walked in first, holding the door. Then Evans, on his crutches, wearing a suit and a look of cold determinati
The drive to the club was a blur of streetlights and silence.Ryker drove his truck like he played goalie aggressive, reactive, and entirely focused on the objective. Evans was in the passenger seat, his bad leg wedged against the dashboard, his face pale and slick with sweat. The adrenaline from t
The tunnel under the stadium was a different world.Above us, forty thousand people were screaming, a wall of sound that vibrated through the concrete ceiling like a constant, low grade earthquake. But down here, the air was cold, damp, and smelled of aggressive cleaning chemicals mixed with the di
The sidelines of a football game are the loudest place on earth, but standing next to Evans, everything felt muffled, like we were underwater.We were standing in the "family and staff" box, a roped-off section of turf right behind the Blackridge bench. It was enemy territory. Every player who jogg







