"We'll have follow-up questions soon."
"I'm sure you will."
Caspian shifts slightly, putting himself more directly between me and Chase. The movement is subtle but the message is clear. Chase's eyes narrow.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Jett. Miss Bardot is perfectly capable of answering questions on her own."
"I'm sure she is." Caspian doesn't move. "But she's under my protection now. Any further inquiries go through me first."
"Council authority supersedes pack politics."
"Does it?" Caspian's smile is all teeth. "My father serves on the Council. I'm sure he'd be interested to hear about these... informal inquiries you're conducting without proper oversight."
Chase's jaw tightens. For a long moment they just stare at each other, two wolves sizing each other up, neither willing to back down first.
Finally Chase looks away. Just a fraction, just enough. But it's there.
Caspian saw it too. His smile sharpens.
"Enjoy your class, Miss Bardot." Chase steps aside, gesturing to the door. "Professor Harmon is waiting."
I walk past him into the building, hyperaware of both males behind me. The mate bond with Julian flares the moment I cross the threshold, responding to my racing heart and the adrenaline flooding my system.
Caspian catches up to me at the classroom door. "I'll be here when class ends."
"You don't have to do that."
"I'll be here." He says it with finality. Alpha deciding. Then his expression softens slightly. "You did well out there. Didn't give him anything."
"Thanks." The word feels inadequate.
He nods once and walks away. I watch him go, then turn to face the classroom. Through the doorway I can see Julian at his desk, head bent over papers. But I feel the exact moment he senses me standing there. The bond pulls tight.
I take a breath and walk inside.
The training hall is empty when I arrive that evening.
I changed out of class clothes into workout gear and came straight here, bypassing dinner because I couldn't face the dining hall again, couldn't handle more stares and whispers about Caspian walking me to every class today like I'm something precious that needs protecting.
I work through warm-ups, stretching muscles that are tight from tension. Then I start on combat drills. Striking the practice dummy with enough force to make it swing on its chain. Again. Again. Again.
Every hit is me fighting back against a world that wants to control me or kill me. Every strike releases a fraction of the fear and anger I've been carrying since Chase pulled out that leather notebook.
I'm so focused on the rhythm of hit-recover-hit that I don't notice I'm not alone anymore until a voice cuts through my concentration.
"You're dropping your left shoulder."
I spin around, staff raised. The training hall is dark beyond the circle of light I'm working in and Knox steps out of it, unhurried, like he's been standing in the shadows long enough that his eyes have adjusted. He's in the corner nearest the weapon rack, arms crossed, pale eyes tracking me with the calm attention of something that has been watching for a while.
My heart hammers but I force myself to stillness. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough." He walks into the light. "You're telegraphing the strike. Anyone with combat training would see it coming."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Will you?" He circles me slowly, assessing. "Or will you keep training alone, working on bad form, making yourself vulnerable?"
"I can handle myself."
