Sasha snatches her pillow, pretending sleep as Riley slips out of the dorm. The hush of midnight amplifies everything—Riley’s barely-suppressed exhilaration, Sasha’s mounting suspicion. Sasha’s eyes flicker open the moment the door clicks shut, her grip tightening against the ache of being left behind. She thinks of Riley’s distracted smiles, the secrets in her laughter. The sting is sharper than she expects: jealousy laced not just with fear, but a kind of longing she can’t name.

In the hallways, Riley moves quietly, heart thudding. Out here, under the low emergency lights, the rules of Sentinel feel thinner—fragile, almost breakable. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until she rounds the corner and collides with Elias. His eyes widen, his guard slipping just an inch, revealing an urgency matching her own. For a stunned moment, neither speaks.

He scans her face, voice low. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She tries to laugh it off, but her hand trembles as she shows him a scraped knuckle. “Late-night training. It’s stupid, I know.”

Without a word, he takes her hand in his, thumb brushing over the bruise. The air between them pulses; there’s no mistaking the thrum of want. “You should take care of yourself,” he murmurs, but the sound of it makes her shiver. His gaze lingers—not on her wound now, but on her lips.

Neither moves away. There are voices nearby; drills echo down distant corridors. But here, the world contracts. He edges closer, breath warm on her cheek, and the distance between warning and surrender vanishes. His mouth finds hers—hungry, searching, reckless—and she melts in, making a small desperate sound she tries to swallow.

His hands cup her face, then slide down—her pulse going wild as he presses her to the wall, their bodies molding together. The kiss deepens, grows rougher, tongues tangling, mouths greedy as if they’ve been starved forever. Her hands scrabble at his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans softly against her mouth. All the discipline he’s cultivated cracks; his need is sudden, furious, terrifying.

“Riley,” he whispers, breaking away, forehead pressed to hers—voice ragged with the effort of control. “We can’t do this. Not here.”

She shivers, tears prickling at her lashes—half with frustration, half with relief that she isn’t alone in her hunger. “I don’t care. I just—” She leans in, kissing him again, softer this time, the taste of longing overwhelming.

A door slams, breaking the moment. Elias pulls away, eyes wild, chest heaving. He grips her shoulders, both of them trembling. “Go back. Please. Before I forget myself.”

She nods, swallowing hard. But as she turns, his hand finds her wrist—holds, then lets go, as if the pain of letting her slip away might actually be visible on his skin.

Meanwhile, Sasha sits cross-legged on her cot, clutching a crumpled note. The words—You were never just a distraction—scrawled in an unfamiliar hand, ink smeared from her tears. She burns it over her desk lamp, watching the paper curl and blacken, rage and grief twisting together. Riley’s secret affair is one thing; Sasha’s own guilt about Wilkins is another beast entirely, one she can’t share, not even with Riley. Her hands are smudged with ash.

Later, the cadets are herded for a surprise all-night drill. Runners pant in the dark, bodies pressed together for warmth, sweat thick on the air. Riley and Elias keep their distance; his gaze is sharp, almost angry. But when the rain comes, flooding the empty gym, he finds her in the locker room—alone, hair dark with water, breath coming fast from the run.

She looks up. The flickering light makes her eyes glow, defiant and lost at once. Neither says a word. He walks straight to her, fists clenched at his sides, wanting to hold back—knowing he won’t.

Their mouths crash together before he can change his mind. She grabs his belt, dragging him into the shower, tiles slippery as they stumble together. He pins her to the wall, hands beneath her shirt, palms mapping skin slick with rainwater and anticipation. Her legs wrap around him, and they find a ferocity in each other that blots out everything else—the consequences, the future, even their names. Her gasp echoes off the tile; he buries his face in her neck, teeth grazing her skin. She arches, nails raking his back, biting back a moan. Water cascades over their tangled bodies, steam rising as pleasure peaks—urgent, unrestrained, necessary.

After, they collapse, forehead to forehead, still standing, both shaking. He starts to apologize, but she silences him with a kiss—gentler, this time, promising nothing except the honesty of her heartbeat.

Hours later, Riley returns to the dorm, hair wet, lips swollen. Sasha sits up, eyes cold and red-rimmed. She doesn’t ask where Riley’s been. Riley senses something broken between them, but Sasha turns away, curling into herself.

When Riley changes, something crumbles from Sasha’s blanket—a burned scrap of paper, just one word still legible: Wilkins.

Riley stares, realization dawning, heart pounding with dread and heartache.

To be continued…