4: The Fight
1040 Words
A Hudson University Werewolf Saga*
*Hudson University, Morningside Heights. Hamilton Hall. Thursday, September 11th. 7:58 AM.*
Rain hadn’t stopped in 4 days.
The quad was a lake. Gargoyles above Low Library looked like they were drowning. The 1 train rumbled under Broadway and made the marble floors shake.
*Alex* walked into Room 312 two minutes early. For once.
Baggy black hoodie up. Locs forward. Chain cold. Knuckles still scabbed from the bell tower lock and from the library table she punched at 2AM.
*Lucian Mark* was already there. _Her_ seat. Window seat. Black tee. Black noise mask. Ice-blue eyes on the rain. Didn’t look up.
She wanted to shove him out the window.
She sat behind him. Slammed her duffel down. Wood cracked.
He didn’t flinch.
*Dr. Elias Thorne* walked in. 8:00 AM exactly. Storm-gray eyes. Scars on his forearms. He looked at Alex. Then at Lucian. Something passed between them.
“_Moby d**k_,” Thorne said. “Page 203. Who can tell me what Ahab represents?”
*Darius “Dez” Knight*, two rows up, dreads tied back, raised his hand. Notebook open. Full of equations, not notes. “Obsession, sir. Self-destruction.”
“Correct, Mr. Knight.” Thorne’s eyes cut to Alex. “And what destroys obsessive men, Ms. Williams?”
Alex didn’t look up. “Other men.”
The room went quiet.
Lucian’s shoulders moved. Half an inch. Like he almost laughed.
Alex hated that.
*The Den, Cafeteria. 12:17 PM.*
Back table. Dish return.
*Maya Woods* slid into the seat across from Alex. Howard hoodie, gold hoops, tray of fries and a chocolate shake. “You look murdery.”
“Good.” Alex didn’t touch her food.
“Vanessa’s planning something,” Maya said. “Kayla posted on her story. ‘Ketchup Girl’s gonna drown.’ 2 million views.”
“Let her try.”
Click. Click. Click.
*Vanessa Crowe*. White jeans, pink crop top, ponytail weaponized. Chrome acrylics. Diamond tennis bracelet. *Kayla Benton*, redhead, recording. *Tiana Ross*, silent, watching. *Priya Shah*, glasses, looking sick. *Jessica Lane*, fake tan, smirking.
“Aw,” Vanessa said. “Curtain Head and her charity case. How’s the basement, girls? Smell like mold yet?”
Maya stood. “You want me to rip those extensions out?”
Vanessa ignored her. Looked at Alex. “Heard you broke the bell tower lock. With your _bare hands_. God, you’re a freak. What are you, on steroids?”
Alex stood. Slow.
Dez was watching from his table. Notebook closed. Frowning.
“Touch Maya again,” Alex said, “and I’ll show you what steroids can do.”
Vanessa laughed. “Try me. Friday. 125th Street Gym. No teachers. No cameras. Just you and me, Ketchup Girl.”
“125th?” Maya grabbed Alex’s arm. “Lex, that’s—”
“I’ll be there,” Alex said.
Vanessa smiled. “Bring your hoodie. You’ll need it to mop up your blood.”
She walked off. Kayla still recording.
*Training Spot #3: 125th Street Gym. Friday, September 12th. 8:47 PM.*
No name. No sign. Just a steel door behind a bodega that sold loosies and hope.
$10 to enter. No refunds. No rules.
The gym smelled like sweat, blood, and bleach. One ring. Concrete floor. Bare bulbs hanging from chains. Walls covered in graffiti: _TANK OWNS YOU_ and _NO COPS_.
*Tank* ran it. 6’8”. 300 pounds. Bald. Fists like hammers. “You fight, you pay. You die, you die.”
Alex had been coming here since she was 16. Won some. Lost more. Came home bleeding, told Maya she fell down stairs.
Tonight, the place was packed.
Vanessa was in the ring. Pink sports bra. White shorts. Ponytail. Acrylics gone — wrapped hands. She wasn’t playing.
Kayla was on her phone. Live. 50K watching.
Tiana leaned against the wall. Arms crossed.
Priya and Jessica sat in the back, looking green.
Dez was there. Hoodie up. Standing in the shadows. Notebook in hand.
And in the far corner, by the exit:
*Lucian Mark*. Black hoodie. Black noise mask. Arms crossed. Ice-blue eyes on Alex.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
Alex saw him. Rage hit first. _Stalking me now?_
She stepped into the ring.
Tank closed the chain link door. “First blood or knockout. Go.”
Vanessa smiled. “Ready to die, Curtain Head?”
Alex rolled her shoulders. Chain cold under her hoodie. “Come here.”
Vanessa moved fast. She was trained. Probably private lessons. Kickboxing.
Jab to Alex’s ribs. Hook to her jaw.
Alex took it. Didn’t flinch.
Vanessa’s eyes widened.
Alex grabbed her wrist. _Twisted_.
Vanessa screamed.
Alex drove her knee into Vanessa’s stomach.
Vanessa folded.
Alex let go.
“Get up,” Alex said.
Vanessa crawled back. Panting. “You… b_tch…”
She lunged.
Alex sidestepped. Elbow to Vanessa’s back.
Vanessa hit the concrete.
Blood. From her nose. First blood.
Tank opened the cage. “Fight over.”
The gym was silent.
Kayla stopped recording.
Vanessa looked up, blood on her face, mascara running. “You’ll pay for this. My dad—”
“Your dad can’t fight,” Alex said.
She walked out.
Didn’t look at Lucian.
But he was gone.
*West Hall Basement. School Lounge. 11:32 PM.*
Maya paced. “You’re _insane_. What if she presses charges?”
“She won’t,” Alex said, icing her ribs with frozen peas. “She’d have to explain why she was in an illegal fight club.”
Maya threw her hands up. “Lex! You can’t keep doing this! One day you’re gonna—”
_Knock. Knock. Knock._
Both froze.
No one knocked at 11:32 PM. Dean Morrison did bed checks at 10.
Alex stood. Fists up.
She opened the steel door.
Empty hallway.
On the concrete, outside:
A white towel. Folded. Clean.
On top: a bag of ice. And a black feather.
Alex picked it up.
No scent. No sound. No one there.
But the ice was still cold.
“Who the hell…” Maya whispered.
Alex crushed the feather.
“I don’t know,” Alex said. “But I’m gonna find out.”
She didn’t know Lucian was on the roof of West Hall.
Watching her window.
Mask off.
Jaw clenched.
And for the first time, he looked _angry_.
- Writer
