The concrete corridor of the athletic complex shrank to the size of a coffin. The crushing, suffocating weight of Jake’s True Alpha pressure didn't just rattle the light fixtures overhead; it felt as though it was actively pressing the oxygen straight out of Avery’s lungs. The air grew instantly thick, charged with the dangerous, metallic sting of ozone and the heavy, burning scent of cedar. It was a sensory execution.
Cole froze, his fingers instantly paralyzing where they were tangled in the hem of Avery’s shirt. The arrogant, untouchable smirk vanished from his face so quickly it looked as if it had been slapped off, replaced by a sudden, sickly pale mask of absolute animal terror. A heavy drop of sweat rolled down his temple, cutting through the thin layer of condensation on his ski
