Good. At least he was consistent.
Dormitory C was old stone and narrow hallways, with the particular smell of a building that had been cleaned on a schedule for decades without ever quite getting clean. I foundmy room on the third floor—a double, which I'd expected but not wanted.
My roommate had already claimed her territory. The bed by the window was buried under a bright quilt, string lights hung half-finished above it, and snacks covered most of the desk. The girl herself was nowhere in sight.
Small mercies.
I dropped my pack on the bare mattress and gave myself exactly five minutes to decompress before unpacking.
The stairwell called to me the way it always did—concrete steps, metal railings, the kind of vertical space that was perfect for training when you couldn't get outside. I'd been running stairs since I was twelve, building the leg strength I'd need for high-altitude climbing.
Old habits didn't break just because I was tired.
I changed into running clothes and headed back out, taking the stairs two at a time to warm up. Third floor to ground level, then back up. Again. Again. My legs burned in that familiar way that meant progress.
I was on my sixth round, coming down fast, when I turned the corner and ran directly into a wall.
A warm wall. A wall that smelled like pine and woodsmoke and something wilder underneath, something that made my hindbrain sit up and pay very close attention.
Hands caught my shoulders—big hands, steadying me before I could bounce off and tumble backwards. I looked up, ready to apologize, and forgot how to speak.
He was tall. Broad. Built like someone who did actual physical labor instead of just lifting weights in a gym. Dark hair curling slightly at his temples, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and—
A cowboy hat.
He was wearing a cowboy hat. Indoors. In Alaska.
My brain short-circuited for a solid two seconds before the absurdity of it snapped me back to reality.
But those two seconds were enough.
Something shifted between us. The air got heavier. My skin prickled everywhere we touched—his hands still on my shoulders, burning through the thin fabric of my shirt like brands.
He made a sound. Low, involuntary, somewhere between a growl and a groan. His pupils blew wide, dark swallowing the color of his eyes, and his whole body went rigid in a way that had nothing to do with the collision.
My heart stuttered.
My wristburned—a flash of heat so sudden and specific that I almost looked down to check for a mark. And something else, something heavier, settled onto my chest like a stone I'd been waiting my whole life to carry.
No.
No, no, no.
I knew what this was. I'd grown up around fated mates, watched the bonds form, heard the stories. The instant recognition. The pull that defied logic.
I did not have time for this.
Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. His hands were still on my shoulders and mine had landed somewhere on his chest and we were juststandingthere, breathing the same air, caught in something neither of us had asked for.
His mouth opened. Nothing came out.
"Name." His voice cracked on the single syllable, rough and wrecked.
I should have answered. Should have said something. But my voice had apparently decided to abandon ship along with my common sense, and all I could do was stare at his face like I was memorizing it for a test I hadn't known I'd be taking.
Footsteps echoed from below.
We both heard them at the same time—someone climbing the stairs, about to round the corner and find us frozen in whatever the hell this was.
