Winging it, p.4
Winging It, page 4
They didn’t know.
Not what happened.
And I wasn’t ready for them to.
So I smiled. Lightly. Carefully.
And stayed quiet, while they danced around the name of a man who had no idea how many pieces of me he still held.
Chapter
Five
The moment we stepped into Pulse, the air changed—charged and humming like someone had plugged the entire building into a Dominion core.
A surge of energy hit me like a wave, rolling through my chest, buzzing across my skin. Music throbbed from every direction, bass deep enough to rearrange my heartbeat. Neon lights danced above us in sync with the rhythm—red, electric blue, acid green—painting the crowd in color and motion. The walls shimmered with shifting holographic art, each swirl and flicker responding to the beat like it was alive.
Everywhere I looked, people were in motion—laughing, dancing, leaning too close and not minding it at all. Luminous auras wove through the crush of bodies, tiny pulses of mood made visible. Joy. Desire. Reckless abandon.
It was chaos.
And it was beautiful.
Zadie burst ahead of us like a comet, arms flung wide, hair bouncing like she’d just won a battle and claimed the night for herself.
“Welcome to the jungle!” she shouted over the music, spinning once with her eyes sparkling. “Let’s reclaim our souls!”
I smiled despite myself. The weight of the Review still pressed against my shoulders, but Zadie’s energy was gravity-resistant. She never let anything—especially doubt—drag her down for long.
Briar followed behind her, arms crossed, expression unimpressed—but her foot tapped along with the music, anyway. She scanned the room like she was casing the place for exit points or potential threats, which honestly… wasn’t out of character.
“Try not to embarrass us,” she muttered, clearly to Zadie, though her smirk gave her away.
Lyra slipped in last, serene as moonlight in a sea of fire. She moved through the crowd like she belonged to it and above it all at once—graceful, effortless, just a little untouchable. People noticed her, but they didn’t dare interrupt.
And then there was me.
Designated driver. Designated observer.
I followed behind with my water—lime wedge, no alcohol. I wasn’t here to unravel. I was here to breathe. To watch them laugh and be alive in a way that wasn’t tied to grades or mission briefs or Dominion control logs.
The lighting shifted again—blue to gold to deep rose—and for a moment; it felt like magic. Not power. Not responsibility.
Just joy.
Zadie vanished into the dancing crowd, dragging Briar with her. Lyra followed, drifting like smoke into the pulse of people.
I stayed near the edge.
Not sulking.
Just… steady.
Anchored.
Tonight isn’t about me.
It’s about us. The afterglow of surviving something hard and being allowed to celebrate it.
“Come on!” Zadie called from the middle of the floor, beckoning me with both arms like she was summoning a lost planet into orbit. “We’re dancing until dawn!”
I laughed softly into my drink, raising the cup in a mock toast.
“To survival,” I murmured, half to myself, half to the moment.
And then I stood there, soaking it all in—the noise, the heat, the neon glow—all of it spinning just fast enough to make me forget the quiet knot of doubt still nestled beneath my ribs.
I wasn’t ready to dance yet.
But maybe… I was ready to feel something.
Even if it was temporary.
Until Zadie grabbed my wrist and practically dragged me onto the dance floor.
The music wrapped around me like a second skin—warm, loud, impossible to ignore.
Bass thrummed up through the floor, steady and strong, and for the first time since the Review, I let it carry me. I wasn’t thinking about answers or posture or the way Eren Thorne had looked at me like a question he didn’t want to ask. I wasn’t thinking about anything.
I was here.
In this moment.
Zadie disappeared into the crush of dancers like she belonged to the beat itself, laughter echoing in her wake. Lyra followed, fluid as moonlight. Even Briar, the eternal tactician, cracked a smile and moved with a rhythm that didn’t feel rehearsed.
I stood back and let myself sway. Not dancing. Not exactly. Just… breathing. Letting go.
For a moment—just one—I forgot.
I forgot the weight pressing behind my ribs. I forgot the way my scars still ached when I stretched too far. I forgot his voice. His eyes. His questions.
And I laughed. Full and unguarded.
The girls spun around me like sparks in a storm, all color and motion, and it lit something inside me—something that had been flickering low for months.
Then Zadie vanished mid-song.
No dramatic exit. No shout. Just… gone. Pulled out of orbit like a comet slingshotting into shadow.
I frowned and scanned the crowd.
And finally—there. Near the back bar.
Hair half-down. Posture slightly off. Zadie, trying not to look like she was absolutely hiding.
I pushed through the crowd and sidled up beside her. “Zadie?”
She turned just enough for me to see her expression, but didn’t quite meet my eyes.
“Nope,” she said, voice a little too high. “I’m a hallucination.”
I leaned in, letting the edge of the bar press into my hip.
“You’re hiding,” I said quietly.
She gave me a crooked smile and braced a hand behind her like she needed to stay standing. “I’m tactically avoiding a mistake with very defined arms.”
That got my attention.
I followed her gaze across the club—through strobing lights, dancing shadows—and spotted him.
Professor Myles.
He looked like he’d walked straight out of a war zone and decided the club lighting wasn’t nearly aggressive enough. Tall, broad, and wrapped in muscle that didn’t come from careful training but from fighting things that hit back, he radiated the kind of energy that made people either move out of his way or look twice just to see what would happen. His hair was messy in a deliberate, defiant way—dark, wild, and pushed back like it refused to be tamed. A faint scar cut through one brow, and his grin was all teeth and challenge, like he found amusement in chaos and would absolutely start a bar fight just to relieve boredom. He didn’t stand still—he prowled, like movement was his resting state. Even in a black tee and combat boots, he felt too big for the room. Dangerous. Loud. And weirdly magnetic, in the way thunderstorms are—terrifying and beautiful, and impossible to ignore.
But it wasn’t him that held my attention.
It was the man standing beside him.
Tall. Controlled. Radiating quiet dominance even in civilian clothes. The lights hit his face at an angle, but I didn’t need a full view.
I knew that silhouette. That weight.
And sure enough—there he was.
Eren Thorne.
Of course.
Because tonight wasn’t about letting go.
It was about being reminded that some ghosts didn’t wait politely in the past.
They followed you.
Even into clubs with glitter walls and Dominion lighting.
Eren Thorne stood beside Professor Myles, his broad shoulders cutting a sharp silhouette against the flickering light. He wasn’t in uniform, but he might as well have been—black button-down, sleeves rolled to the forearms, collar slightly open like the night hadn’t earned the right to see all of him.
He looked… different here. Less restrained. Less like an agent and more like a man built from fire and regret.
Still sharp.
Still cold.
But not frozen.
His presence burned—quiet and steady and impossible to look away from.
I shifted my eyes back to Myles.
Zadie was hiding from that?
I blinked at her. “Wait, him? You’re hiding from him?”
Zadie groaned like I’d just asked her to relive a trauma. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“You’re literally crouching behind a potted plant.”
She slumped against the bar, defeated. “Okay, so… I might’ve slept with him last week.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“I didn’t know he was a professor!” she rushed out. “He didn’t say anything! We met at Nova Lounge—he bought me a drink, we talked about tactics, and then one thing led to very flexible positions and—boom. Fun was had.”
I blinked. “And?”
“And then I walked into Advanced Tactical Field Theory yesterday morning and he walked in with a syllabus and called roll like nothing happened.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh yes. And now I’m pretty sure I’m having a full-on breakdown. I’m hiding from my professor-turned-one-night stand like some underprepared sitcom character.”
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “You’re Zadie Virell. The girl who once flirted with an evaluator to avoid a logistics quiz. You don’t hide.”
She peeked over the rim of her glass. “I know. But this feels… messy. And I don’t do messy.”
I nudged her gently with my shoulder. “You do bold. You do brilliant. You own a room just by walking into it. And okay, maybe this one’s complicated—but you don’t have to shrink for anyone. Especially not over something that happened outside a classroom.”
Her eyes softened. Just a little. “Even if he definitely graded my paper this morning?”
“Especially then,” I said with a smirk. “Honestly, if he didn’t give it an A after that, I’ll file a formal complaint myself.”
She laughed—actually laughed—and the tension around her shoulders eased.
“You’re the worst influence,” she said fondly.
“And yet you love me.”
She clinked her glass against mine. “Tragically.”
I smiled and sipped my water, heart still tight in my chest.
Because while I was giving sunshine pep talks to my best friend about not hiding… I hadn’t even told her that the man across the room had once called me a liability.
“I’ll grab the next round,” I said, cutting through Zadie’s spiral of regrets and increasingly poetic descriptions of Professor Myles’ jawline.
She blinked at me, grateful and slightly dazed. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Just need some air.” I gave her a quick smile. It felt steady enough. But the truth was heavier—I needed space. Space to breathe without the ghost of Eren Thorne’s voice still echoing between my ribs.
The crowd shifted around me in waves—laughing, spinning, full of life that pulsed with the bassline. Neon light painted every surface in flashes of violet and fire. Faces blurred as I weaved through the crush of bodies, my breath syncing with the beat like it could replace the thoughts crowding my head.
The bar was a beacon ahead—polished, bright, alive with the clink of glass and low conversation. I stepped up just as a guy turned to me with a smile that could probably stop a small parade.
Tall. Tousled hair. Eyes like mischief bottled in something warm.
“Hey there,” he said, leaning just enough to meet me at eye level. “What can I get for you? And more importantly—what’s your name?”
“Aurora,” I said, smiling before I meant to.
Something about him was easy. Magnetic. Not in a Dominion way—just… present. Real.
“Well, Aurora,” he said, his grin widening, “I’m Finn. Your friendly neighborhood bartender. What can I get you tonight?”
I could’ve listed my order like a checklist. Efficient. Quick.
Instead, I tilted my head and said, “Something refreshing. With a twist.”
He arched a brow. “Dangerously vague. I like it.”
“Three shots of something wild for my friends,” I added. “And something sweet and fizzy for me.”
“Anything else to go with those drinks?” He winked. “Maybe an adventure?”
My laugh slipped out before I could stop it—quick and breathless. “Depends on how adventurous you are.”
His grin went slow and crooked as he started mixing, bottles moving with casual flair. I leaned against the bar, watching him work, feeling the tension in my shoulders slowly unravel beneath the sound of clinking glass and background noise.
For just a moment, it was simple.
A flash of warmth. A smile from a stranger. The temporary illusion that I wasn’t walking a tightrope between my past and my future.
Just a girl at a bar.
Just a night off.
I balanced the tray with both hands, fingers curled tightly around the edges. Water, two shots—Zadie and Briar’s choices—and Lyra’s herbal fizz, which still smelled like a wildflower field that had made a pact with chaos.
It was a ridiculous stack, but somehow I made it work, weaving through the pulse of bodies like the music was clearing a path just for me.
Behind the bar, Finn caught my eye and flashed another of those easy, heart-skipping smiles.
“Be careful out there,” he called.
I tossed a grin over my shoulder. “Always.”
The bass wrapped around me like a second heartbeat as I moved through the crowd, lights flickering overhead like captured stars—violet, red, gold. Laughter echoed, feet moved in sync, and for just a moment, I felt steady.
And then I turned the corner.
Bam.
I hit something solid. Unyielding. Heat surged across my front—liquid warmth spilling over my shirt, dribbling down my arm as the tray clattered to the floor in a spectacular crash.
“Shit,” I gasped, staggering back.
And froze.
Because standing there—shoulders squared, shirt soaked, gaze locked on mine—was Eren Thorne.
His dark button-down clung to him now, drinks dripping from the fabric. And Heaven help me, it made everything worse. Broader than I remembered. Stillness like a storm waiting for a reason. Flame-shadow eyes that flickered once, surprised, before settling into something unreadable.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Of all people. Of course it had to be him.
I blinked up at him, soaked, breathless, and wildly aware of every inch of space between us.
“Uh…” I stammered. “Sorry about that.”
His eyes scanned me—slow, deliberate. Then he looked down at the tray, the mess, the drinks soaking into his shirt.
Then back to me.
“You really should watch where you’re going,” he said, voice low.
But not sharp.
An edge.
“I didn’t see you.” I blinked. “You blend into the background too well,” I added, attempting to salvage some dignity.
His brow arched. Just slightly. That same unreadable fire smoldering behind his gaze like he was deciding whether to laugh or reprimand me.
I stepped back, heat flushing my face, water dripping from my sleeve. “I’ll, uh—let me pick this up.”
He didn’t stop me.
But he didn’t look away, either.
And even as I kneeled down, heart still hammering, I could feel the weight of him there.
Watching.
Like I’d just become another problem he couldn’t quite walk away from.
Chapter
Six
I took a breath—deep, steadying—and bent down to gather the scattered drinks, my fingers still trembling at the edges. The floor shimmered with spilled alcohol, catching the club lights like tiny stars dropped too low. I didn’t look back.
Couldn’t.
Not with my cheeks still burning, not with the imprint of him pressed against every nerve in my body.
But I would come back and clean up.
Instead, I forced my shoulders straight and turned back toward the crowd. I grabbed a new set of drinks and hurriedly moved to my friends.
“Hey, girls!” I called out, weaving through swaying bodies, slipping past laughter and glowing wristbands. The music hugged every movement, the beat thumping through the soles of my boots like it could shake off the memory of flame-shadow eyes.
Zadie spotted me first.
“There you are!” She grinned, arms wide like she’d been personally abandoned. “Did you fall into a puddle?”
I laughed—too quick, a little too loud—but I kept the smile on my face like a shield. “Just a minor drink-related disaster,” I said, handing over her shot with a mock flourish. “Cheers to the floor.”
“To survival!” Zadie crowed, tossing back her drink in a single smooth motion.
Briar and Lyra followed suit, and for a heartbeat, it felt normal again. Safe. Like I hadn’t just collided with the man who haunted half my past and would probably own half my future.
“Okay but seriously,” Zadie said, eyes glinting as she leaned into me, “how hot was the bartender?”
I rolled my eyes, the corners of my mouth tugging upward despite myself. “I’m not even touching that.”
“He’s too hot for that job,” Lyra added calmly, blinking like it was a scientific fact. “Someone should investigate.”
Their laughter melted around me—warm, bright, alive. I let it wrap around my chest, let it loosen the knot that had lodged beneath my ribs ever since the spill.
But even in the middle of it all, his face floated back into my mind.
I still felt the heat on my skin. Still saw the shadow of his expression when he looked at me like I was… something he couldn’t quite name.
I cleared my throat. “I’ll be right back,” I said, before they could corner me with questions about why I looked like I’d just walked through a sprinkler.
“Don’t vanish!” Zadie warned, pointing her empty shot glass at me like a threat.
I gave her a salute and slipped back through the crowd, this time heading for the bar with one mission: more napkins.
The club’s energy hadn’t slowed—if anything, it had thickened, the bass curling around every movement like smoke. I moved quickly, dodging elbows and spinning heels, the distance to the bar feeling longer than it should’ve.
