Chapter 43: Let’s Run

Chapter 43: Let’s Run Kaya The moment I hear his voice, the air in my lungs vanishes. My breath catches, and for a fleeting second, I forget everything—the dull sting blooming on my forehead, the likely red mark that will form soon. None of it matters. All I can focus on is the intoxicating scent of pine and the firm, steady warmth of his hand resting on my waist. "Kaya?" The sound of my name barely registers before he suddenly spins me around. Our bodies nearly collide, the movement so abrupt that my breath stutters in my throat. Startled, I instinctively recoil, my back knocking into the sharp edge of the shelf. Another sharp jolt of pain shoots through me, but before I can react, Magnus’s hands tighten around my waist, firm yet careful. In a swift, controlled motion, he presses me against the opposite wall—trapping me, securing me—ensuring I don’t hurt myself again. My pulse thunders. I feel... strange. Maybe it’s the shock, or maybe it’s something deeper, something raw and unfamiliar, but for some reason, I can’t look away from him. And yet, he doesn’t meet my gaze. His intense amber eyes are locked onto my forehead, his expression tight with concern. He’s so close—so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath as it fans across my skin with each exhale. Then, gently, he lifts a hand and presses the back of his fingers to my forehead. The touch makes me flinch, but instead of pain, something entirely different crackles through me—an electrifying sensation, as if our skin, the very moment it meets, sparks with unseen energy. "Kaya," he murmurs again, firmer this time. The sound of my name in his voice snaps me out of whatever haze I’ve fallen into. "You hit your head pretty hard," he continues, "are you alright?" I nod quickly, though I’m not sure I can form words right now. My throat feels tight, my tongue heavy. I know that if I try to speak, I might just choke on the words. Magnus studies me for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then, his expression shifts, his gaze turning more restless, like he’s searching for something he can’t find. "What are you doing here?" he finally asks, his voice quieter now. "I wanted to grab a change of clothes," I answer carefully, and to my relief, my voice comes out steady. "I didn’t have any sportswear in my room." "Oh..." Magnus’s voice trails off, his tone a little lost as if he’s trying to make sense of what I said. "I’ll make the necessary arrangements later." "Thank you," I nod gratefully, my gaze shifting back to the box I was struggling to reach before returning to him. "Could you help me get that box down?" I gesture toward the top shelf, and without a word, Magnus steps forward. He easily grabs the box, setting it gently on the floor right next to my feet. "Help yourself." I bend down, still unsure of what exactly I need, but I try to push aside the discomfort of his proximity. I can feel his eyes on me, their intensity almost tangible, sending a series of prickles across my skin. I force myself to ignore the heat of his gaze, my fingers trembling slightly as I grab the first top I see. I unzip it, hastily pulling it over my head. Standing next to him feels suffocating, and yet... there’s something oddly magnetic about the whole situation. I can’t quite decide if I like it or if it’s making me want to flee. "Well, I’ll be on my way then," I manage a brief smile, eager to escape the closeness. But before I can take a step, his voice halts me again. "You can still back out of it," he says. "There’s no shame in it." My eyes widen in shock, and I glance at him, confused. "Why would you say that?" Magnus hesitates, his gaze momentarily flickering away as he sighs, running a hand through his curly hair. "It’s safe to assume that Damien’s favorites were never forced to do anything too... straining." His words hit me like a sudden, sharp slap, and a rush of heat surges through me. For some reason, they make me unbelievably angry, though I can’t quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it has something to do with him mentioning Damien, the one who supposedly kicked me out of Dark Wood. Or maybe it’s the fact that everyone still insists on calling me "favorite." I don’t know. But whatever the reason, it makes me angry. So, against my better judgment, I take a step closer to Magnus, reducing the distance between us until there’s barely any space left. I lock my eyes with his, and with as much detachment as I can muster, I say, "You can try running ten laps through the forest every day, but it still won’t compare to what I had to endure while being his favorite." With that, I spin on my heels and storm out of the storage room, my fists clenched at my sides, frustration boiling in my chest. I hate it. I hate how ignorant and prejudiced everyone is. They see me as Damien’s whore, as if that’s all I was to him. But it wasn’t all there was to our relationship. "Kaya!" Samantha’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I turn toward her. "Looking good! Black really suits your silver hair." I force a smile, though the sting of my encounter with Magnus still lingers. Maybe running isn’t such a bad idea after all—it could be the perfect way to burn off this frustration and focus my mind on something else. "Alright, everyone, gather round," Oliver shouts, waving his arm for the group to form up. "Get your asses over here and get ready to run. The rules are the same as always—three laps, each at their own pace. No shoving, no provoking. Those who can’t finish all three laps need to come back here and report their condition." His gaze flicks briefly toward me before sweeping over the rest of the group. "No judgment here." I grit my teeth, the sharp edges of my nails digging into the soft skin of my palms, grounding myself in the rising tension. "Stick with me, and we’ll make it," Samantha leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Are you ready?" I meet her gaze, locking eyes before giving a firm, confident nod. "Yeah. Let’s run."