Thornhill Academy. Chapter 113

**Cage**

Surprisingly, she sits beside me. That’s the first thing I notice. Not a glare. Not an insult. Just a small huff under her breath before she opens her notebook and starts scribbling. And when I called her sunshine earlier, she didn’t even throw her pen at my head. That's definitely progress. The bond thrums in quiet satisfaction, like it’s proud of me for managing basic civility. I hate that. I hate that it likes her close. I hate that I like her close. But that’s not the point. The point is that she’s learning to trust me. And trust means access—access to answers and to whatever the hell she’s hiding. I lean back in my chair, watching her take notes with that annoying little crease between her brows. She looks normal. Completely ordinary. Except she’s not. She’s an anomaly, the unregistered stray who somehow waltzed into Thornhill and walked out with five fated mates. That doesn’t just happen. Fates don’t mess up that badly. The class drags on, Professor Hill pretending I don’t exist and very obviously pretending Allison doesn’t exist either. Her eyes flick to him every few minutes, worry pulling at the corners of her mouth. I know the look—guilt, longing, maybe a little heartbreak. Interesting combination, considering he’s her mate too. But he doesn’t look at her. Not once. His voice stays steady, calm, like she’s just another student. And maybe she is, to everyone else. But I can sense it —the tension and the weight of something unsaid between them. Good. Fractures make people careless.

When class finally ends, I follow her out before I can overthink it. She doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe she’s tired, maybe she’s distracted. Either way, I fall into step beside her.

“Let me walk you to your next class,” I offer.

Her brows lift, suspicious. “Why?”

I shrug, easy grin in place. “Because that’s what friends do, sunshine.”

She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t say no. The rest of the day goes more or less the same. I keep it light. Polite. Helpful. Hold a door here, carry a book there, ask about her schedule. When lunch rolls around, I ask if she’ll eat with me. She hesitates, clearly thinking about it, before agreeing with a reluctant, “Fine, but only because Kael’s late.”

We eat. We talk. Well—she talks. Mostly about her classes, the chaos of sharing a dorm with three mates, and how much she misses coffee from a village she stayed in before here. I listen, smiling in all the right places and try to pry for more answers about this village and her life before here. But she doesn't give me much. Actually, she gives me nothing but a narrowed glare, like she knows I'm not genuinely interested.

By the time the last bell rings, I know two things for sure:

She’s smarter than people give her credit for.

None of this makes any sense.

Runaway stray. Five mates. Power flares that don’t match any classification I’ve seen. If my father’s right—and he usually is—then she’s something else entirely. Something dangerous. I need to find out what. Our final class is Defence Training, which is loud, crowded, and the air is thick with magic and sweat. Kael and Evander are already there, standing off to the side, looking like they’d rather bite someone than be here. Probably me.

Coach yells for everyone to pair up, and before anyone can blink, I step forward. “Allison’s with me.”

Kael’s growl is instant, low and feral. Evander’s eyes flash gold for a second.

“If you hurt her,” Kael says, voice even but deadly, “I will make it slow and messy, the way that I end you.”

“Duly noted.” I flash him a grin that’s all teeth. “Didn’t plan on hurting her anyway.”

Not entirely, at least. Because for all her soft smiles and the way her eyes light up when she laughs, there’s something beneath the surface. Something I can feel in my bones, humming like live current and whatever it is, it’s not normal.

So I step into the sparring circle, give her a charming nod, and say, “Ready when you are, sunshine.”

She smirks, raising her fists and adjusting her stance. The bond hums again, crawling into my mind, whispering *mine.* I shake off that thought like the poison that it is *a*nd I tell myself that this is still an assignment. That I’m only here to find out what she is and what she is up to.

It starts off harmless enough. Her hair’s tied back, her eyes bright, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she raises her fists. She’s confident, cocky even. I like that. Makes it more fun to ruin.

“All right, sunshine,” I murmur, taking my stance. “Show me what you’ve got.”

She moves first, quick and surprisingly light on her feet. The first swing comes fast, aimed straight for my jaw. I duck easily, stepping back just enough that her knuckles graze the air instead of my face.

“Nice try,” I tease.

Her eyes narrow. “You’re not supposed to talk during sparring.”

“Who made that rule?”

She doesn’t answer, just spins on her heel and comes at me again. This time I sidestep, catch her wrist mid-swing, and twist lightly before letting go. She stumbles, catches herself, and the sound she makes—half growl, half frustrated sigh—goes straight to my chest. Wait...Did she just fucking growl?

She lunges again, faster, sharper this time. She’s learning my rhythm, anticipating the dodge. I duck low, sweep my leg out, but she jumps, landing with a grin that says she saw it coming. I grab her wrist before she can pull away and use her own momentum to spin her, twisting her arm behind her back until her body’s flush against mine.

“Got you,” I whisper against her ear.

She shifts her weight, and the next thing I know, I’m the one on my back, staring up at her as she grins down at me, breathless and wild.

“Got you,” she says, mocking.

“You fight dirty, sunshine.”

She shrugs, still panting. “You bring it out in me.”

Good. I want to bring it out of you. Show me what you are, Stray. We circle each other again, closer this time. The others are just background noise now. It’s just her and me, moving in sync, testing limits neither of us wants to admit exist. She throws another punch. I catch it. This time I don’t let go right away. Her pulse thrums under my fingers, and for a second, the whole room narrows to the sound of our breathing. This is supposed to be a game. Just an assignment. Just something I need to figure out for my father, for me. For my own freedom. So why does it suddenly feel like something I don’t want to win?