We start learning the actual combo. Nothing crazy—step-touch, cross-step, a little body roll, arms sweeping. The instructor breaks it down.One and two and three and four, hips this way, arms that way, don't lock your knees, breathe.
The mirror is a sea of moving bodies. Jess keeps losing track of her left foot and running into my shoulder. Noah jumps sideways and nearly collides with someone.
I should be overwhelmed. Mirrors everywhere, strangers, music pounding. For a second my chest tightens.
I breathe. My body keeps moving. Step, cross, slide, turn.
Sweat beads along my spine. My lungs burn pleasantly.
Somewhere in the middle of the third run-through, I catch sight of my reflection. My face is flushed, eyes bright, mouth curved.
I look alive.
Jess notices, bumping my shoulder. "There she is."
"Who?"
"You. You came back from wherever you were in your head. You're cute when you're not haunted."
"Wow. Rude."
She cackles. "You know what I mean. It was like you were watching your own life from the doorway and you just stepped back in."
I don't have an answer. I just shake my head and keep moving.
During a water break, Noah glances toward the big window that looks out into the main gym. His cheeks flush dark. "Is he staring again?"
Jess and I follow his gaze.
There, across the hallway in the weight area, stands an alpha with forearms like carved wood and a jaw you could cut yourself on. He's leaning against a machine, pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes keep sliding back to Noah.
His scent is thick possessive focus.
"That one yours?" Jess asks.
"Jonah." Noah sighs. "He insisted on coming. Said he wanted to 'check the environment.' He's been glowering at everyone between me and the exit for thirty minutes. It's embarrassing."
"It's also kind of flattering," Jess says. "If you're into panicked security guards."
"I'm into dancing without being stared at like a flight risk," Noah grumbles.
Jess leans conspiratorially closer. "What do we think—do I wink at him?"
I laugh, short and startled. "He'll break in half."
"I won't actually do it. I like my bones unpunched."
"We're fine," I say, glancing through the glass again. "He's watching, not interfering. That's good protective, not bad protective."
Noah groans. "Now I'm imagining Jonah trying to assert dominance over a door."
Jess grins. "Honestly? I'd pay to see that."
We go back to dancing. The second half flies faster. My feet get tangled more than once, but the instructor is encouraging. Every time my body stutters, my brain doesn't spiral; it just adjusts.
By the cooldown, my shirt is damp, my hairline wet, and my legs feel pleasantly heavy. We stretch in a circle, breathing slow and steady.
"Same time next week," the instructor calls. "You all did great. Seriously. I'm obsessed."
