Sleep came easily that night, heavy and peaceful—until it didn't.
I woke with a sharp inhale, my heart racing as if I had been running. The room was dark, the city quiet beyond the thin walls of the apartment. For a moment, I lay still, listening to my own breathing, trying to understand what had pulled me from sleep.
Nothing looked wrong.
Misty's steady breaths drifted softly from the other room. The faint glow of moonlight spilled across the floor, silver and calm. And yet… the feeling lingered. That same strange pull. Subtle, insistent. As if something unseen had brushed against my awareness and refused to let go.
I sat up, pressing a hand to my chest.
"Get a grip, Scarlett," I murmured to myself. "You're just adjusting."
I lay back down, forcing my eyes closed, but sleep refused to return. Images flickered behind my eyelids—crowded streets, unfamiliar faces, eyes that lingered too long. Somewhere deep inside me, unease curled and settled.
By morning, the city was already awake.
I moved through my routine in a haze, getting dressed quietly, careful not to wake Misty. She had come home late from the training hall the night before, muscles sore and patience thin. I left a note on the table before slipping out:
Back late. Don't wait up. —Scar
The bookshop was peaceful, as always. Rows of shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, heavy with stories that smelled of ink and time. I liked it here. Words didn't judge. Stories didn't whisper behind your back. They simply existed, waiting to be understood.
As I arranged a stack of returned books, I caught my reflection in the narrow mirror behind the counter. Same face. Same brown eyes. Same girl who had left the fortress just days ago.
So why did it feel like something had changed?
The bell above the door chimed.
I looked up, offering my practiced smile. "Welcome—"
The words died on my lips.
He stood just inside the doorway, sunlight spilling around him like it had chosen him deliberately. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that fell carelessly across his forehead. But it was his eyes that rooted me in place—steel-gray, sharp and searching, as if they were looking through me rather than at me.
For a heartbeat, the world stilled.
No sounds. No movement. Just him.
And me.
Something snapped—no, shifted—inside my chest. My breath caught painfully, my pulse roaring in my ears. The air between us felt thick, charged, humming with something I couldn't name.
His brows furrowed slightly, as if he felt it too.
I blinked, hard, and the moment shattered. The sounds of the city rushed back in, loud and overwhelming. I swallowed, heat rising to my cheeks.
"I—sorry," I said quickly. "Can I help you?"
He hesitated, as though grounding himself, then nodded. His voice, when he spoke, was low and calm—but it sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.
"I'm looking for a book," he said.
I gestured awkwardly toward the shelves. "We… have a lot of those."
A corner of his mouth lifted, just barely. "So I see."
I forced myself to move, stepping out from behind the counter. Every instinct screamed at me to keep my distance—and yet my feet carried me closer anyway.
"What kind of book?" I asked.
"History," he replied after a moment. "Ancient territories. Old alliances."
Something in his tone made my chest tighten.
I led him to the back of the shop, acutely aware of his presence behind me. It felt like being followed—not in a threatening way, but in one that made my senses hyper-aware. I pulled a book from the shelf and turned to hand it to him.
Our fingers brushed.
The reaction was instant.
Heat surged up my arm, sharp and startling. I gasped softly, dropping the book. He caught it before it hit the floor, his eyes now darkened with something I couldn't read.
"Are you alright?" he asked, concern threading through his voice.
"I—yes," I lied, pulling my hand back as if burned. "Just… static. I'm clumsy."
His gaze lingered on me a second longer than necessary, as if he didn't believe me. Then he nodded.
"Thank you," he said. "I'll take this."
At the counter, I rang him up with shaking hands. When I looked up again, he was watching me—not openly, but intently, like someone memorizing details they didn't want to forget.
"I'm Xavier," he said suddenly.
I hesitated. "Scarlett."
The way he said my name—quiet, almost reverent—made my heart stutter.
"Well," he said, stepping back toward the door, "thank you for your help, Scarlett."
As the bell chimed behind him, I stood frozen, my chest tight, my thoughts a mess. I didn't understand what had just happened. I didn't understand him.
And yet, as he disappeared into the crowd, one thought echoed louder than the rest:
I was going to see him again.
Misty noticed immediately when I got home that evening.
"You look like you saw a ghost," she said, tossing her boots aside. "Or fell into a love story. Which is it?"
I scoffed, dropping onto the couch. "Don't start."
She grinned. "Oh, I'm definitely starting."
I shook my head. "It was nothing. Just… a strange day."
She studied me more closely, her teasing expression fading into something thoughtful. "Scar, you've been off since we got here."
"I'm fine," I insisted, too quickly.
She didn't push—but I could tell she wasn't convinced.
That night, the pull returned stronger than before.
I dreamed of gray eyes and a voice calling my name from somewhere I couldn't reach. I dreamed of standing on the edge of something vast and dangerous, with no idea whether stepping forward would save me—or destroy me.
Far away, beyond the city lights, Xavier Grey stood on the balcony of his own apartment, fists clenched at his sides.
He had felt it too.
The instant their paths crossed, something ancient had awakened inside him—something that had been silent for far too long. His wolf paced restlessly beneath his skin, agitated, alert.
Find her, it urged.
Xavier exhaled slowly, staring up at the moon. "Soon," he murmured. "Very soon."
Neither of us knew it yet.
But fate had already marked the moment.
And from that single, accidental meeting, nothing would ever be the same again.