I step over the threshold into my first class: Alpha Instincts. The absence of Jax is a relief I can almost taste. Nothing to track, no lingering gaze to dodge or deflect, just my own heartbeat and the tap of my boots on the polished floor. Finally, a room where my thoughts can move unshadowed by the bristling awareness of his attention, that static charge that knifes up my spine every time he looks my way.
The board at the front of the room is empty save for the words "Leadership & Tactics." I smile. Strategy has always been my edge—even my father, gritting his teeth, had to admit it—and for the first time since setting foot in Silverpaw, my real confidence stirs unprovoked. Faint, but there.
Light pours through tall windows along one wall, splitting into sharp angles by the diamond pan
