CHAPTER 50
1324 Words
ADINNA’S POV
I wake up every morning with the same dull ache behind my eyes and the same weight pressing on my chest. It’s not pain, exactly. More like the echo of something I can’t turn off. The bond hums inside me like a low-frequency sound I can’t escape. It’s always there. Quiet, constant, and waiting.
So I do the only thing I can, I bury myself in work.
Books, assignments, training logs, anything that keeps my mind too busy to think. I study until my eyes sting, until the words blur together on the page. Sometimes I don’t even remember what I’m reading, just that I’m turning pages to fill the silence.
No one talks about the Solstice Ball anymore.
The academy has moved on. Classes continue, gossip shifts to new scandals, and the night that changed everything for me becomes nothing more than another story swallowed by routine. I should be grateful. I wanted normalcy. I prayed for it. But now that it’s here, it feels hollow like I’m living inside someone else’s calm while my own world burns quietly underneath.
Riley still checks on me, but I’ve mastered the art of pretending.
A smile here, a casual “I’m fine” there. She doesn’t believe me, I can see it in her eyes, but she doesn’t push either. Maybe she knows there’s nothing she can say that will untangle what’s happening inside me.
And then there’s Dean.
He’s been my lifeline, the one steady thing in a storm that doesn’t make sense. He helps me study after classes, always patient, always kind. He teases me when I get frustrated, and sometimes he says something that makes me laugh before I can stop myself. Those are the worst moments, because they almost make me forget.
Almost.
The problem is, the bond doesn’t care about boundaries or common sense.
When Dean leans close to look at something in my notes, my whole body reacts before my brain can catch up. My pulse skips and my wolf stirs. The air between us tightens like a wire pulled too far. I can feel it humming in the small distance that separates us. The warmth, the pull, the invisible thread I keep pretending doesn’t exist.
He notices. Of course he does.
Sometimes he looks at me like he’s trying to solve a riddle, and he’s afraid of what the answer might be. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t either. We just sit there, pretending the air isn’t charged, and pretending our hands didn’t just brush and make the bond spark in our veins.
It’s torture, but it’s safer than the truth.
By the third day, I start skipping meals just to stay busy.
If I keep moving, maybe the restlessness won’t catch up. I spend extra hours in the library, chasing distraction. My wolf hates it and she paces inside me, restless and agitated. She wants to run to find them, but I refuse to listen.
Every time I hear Hunter’s laugh echo from the training grounds, or catch a glimpse of Salem’s silhouette in the distance, my chest tightens. Jace’s voice, no matter how muffled, makes my stomach twist. I keep on telling myself I’m imagining it. That they don’t feel it the same way. That whatever tether exists between us can’t be real.
Except it is.
It has to be, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape it.
Today, Dean and I are studying in the east courtyard. The autumn light slants through the windows, warm and golden, painting the stone walls in a color that feels too soft for how I feel inside. Dean is explaining something about pack hierarchies, and I nod along, pretending to listen. My gaze drifts past him, out the window, and that’s when I see him.
Jace.
He’s leaning against a tree in the courtyard across from us, a book in one hand he’s clearly not reading. His other hand is in his pocket, his posture casual, too casual. His eyes are on me. The corner of his mouth curves into a smirk when our gazes meet, sharp and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
My stomach drops.
I look away immediately, forcing myself to focus on Dean’s voice. But it’s useless. I can feel Jace’s stare like heat against my skin. My wolf growls softly, a sound only I can hear, her instincts rising in recognition. The air feels too thin, my lungs too small.
Dean pauses mid-sentence. “You okay?”
I force a smile. “Yeah. I’m just tired.”
He watches me for a second longer than he should, his brow furrowed, but he doesn’t press. He goes back to talking, and I pretend to listen again. I can’t tell him that I can feel another man’s gaze burning holes through me.
When I risk a glance back at the courtyard, Jace is gone.
The absence hits me harder than it should. I exhale shakily, my fingers tightening on the edge of my notebook.
Why does it feel like they’re all circling me?
Dean, Hunter, Jace, and Salem. Every time I turn around, it’s like one of them is there, hovering at the edges of my world. Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe it’s paranoia. Or maybe the bond is drawing us closer whether I want it to or not.
That night, I try to study again, but the words won’t stay still.
Every sentence I read dissolves into fragments of memory. My wolf hums with restless energy, whispering things I don’t want to hear.
They’re yours. They’re ours.
I slam the book shut. “No, they’re not,” I whisper into the empty room. My voice sounds small. Weak.
Sleep doesn’t come easy.
When it finally does, it’s fractured and filled with flashes of firelight and hands reaching for me. I wake up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding, my skin burning with the ghost of a touch that never happened. I press my palms to my face and take a shaky breath.
I can’t keep living like this.
The next morning, I drag myself to class. The hallways buzz with noise and laughter, and I move through them like a ghost. Everyone else looks fine and I hate them a little for it. They don’t have a bond crawling under their skin. They don’t have four faces haunting their dreams.
When I reach my classroom, the first thing I notice is the quiet. The desks are still empty meaning thaty I’m early. I drop my bag on the table, already reaching for my notes, when something catches my eye.
There’s a folded piece of paper sitting right in the center of my desk.
Not crumpled or tossed, but placed there deliberately.
I frown and glance around, but no one’s nearby. The room is empty except for the sound of my heartbeat. Slowly, I pick up the paper. My fingers tremble as I unfold it.
Stay away from them if you value your life.
My blood runs cold.
For a second, I just stare at the words, my mind blank. Then I look toward the door, half-expecting someone to be there watching me. But there’s no one. Just the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and the sound of my pulse thudding in my ears.
I read the note again. Once. Twice. Half-expecting the words to change.
Stay away from them.
From who? From the four boys everyone thinks I have no connection to? From the ones whose bond I can feel even now, humming faintly in my chest?
My hands shake as I fold the paper back up. I slip it into my notebook before anyone else walks in, trying to look normal, trying to breathe. But the air feels thick, the room smaller than before.
Someone knows.
Someone knows what happened that night, or at least suspects it.
And whoever they are, they think it’s dangerous.
- Writer
