Miss Nobody’s Strike-Back

The Unnoticed Observer

Lucian narrowed his eyes against the late-afternoon sun as he sat on the far side of the university track.

An unread textbook rested on his lap.

He hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes.

His attention was fixed on the woman running the final lap.

Clara.

Three months ago, he'd seen her sitting on a damp stone curb, crying into a cheap bottle of sweet red wine.

Her heels had been broken.

Her pride had been shattered.

But even then, he'd noticed something beneath the pain.

A spark.

Now, that spark was a flame.

Clara's stride was steady and powerful. Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and sweat glistened along her brow.

She didn't slow down.

Not when her breathing became heavier.

Not when her legs began to tremble.

She kept going.

Lucian had noticed her progress throughout the summer.

Their paths had crossed more than once.

At the academy's training grounds.

At the university gym.

On the track during early-morning runs.

Each time, Clara seemed stronger than before.

She trained with a quiet determination that fascinated him.

There were no complaints.

No dramatic declarations.

No need for an audience.

She simply showed up and worked.

Lucian had seen students with natural talent give up when training became difficult.

Clara did the opposite.

The harder it became, the harder she pushed.

He remembered one particular afternoon when he'd watched her collapse onto a bench after a brutal training session.

She'd sat there for several minutes, breathing heavily.

Then she'd stood up.

And started again.

That was the moment Lucian realized something.

Clara wasn't training because she wanted to impress Julian.

She was training because she was determined never to feel powerless again.

The thought made something shift inside him.

Clara crossed the finish line and slowed to a walk.

She bent forward, hands resting on her knees as she caught her breath.

After a moment, she straightened and reached for her water bottle.

As she lifted it to her lips, her eyes wandered across the track.

They stopped on the bleachers.

Lucian didn't look away.

For three quiet seconds, their gazes locked.

Clara frowned.

Something about him felt familiar.

She couldn't remember where she'd seen those silver-gray eyes before.

Then recognition flickered.

The night of the gala.

The shadow across the street.

The man who had stood there when she was at her lowest.

Could it be him?

Clara gave him a small, polite nod.

Lucian returned it.

She turned toward the locker rooms, her shoulders straight and her head held high.

Lucian watched her disappear through the doors.

Only then did he close his textbook.

He hadn't learned anything from it.

But he'd learned something about Clara.

She wasn't the fragile girl Julian had thrown away.

She was becoming someone dangerous.

A faint smile touched Lucian's lips.

“Julian,” he murmured.

His expression darkened.

“You have no idea what you threw away.”