Page 98 of Heat Unwritten
I walked out of the shadows.
The suit held me together. The silk whispered against my skin.
I didn't look at the crowd. Not yet. I looked for my anchors.
To my left, Daniel was stepping back, surrendering the center stage. As I passed him, I smelled it, a wave of spiced chai rolling off him, cutting through the sterile theater air. He didn't touch me, but he nodded, his eyes warm and grounding.I’m behind you,his posture said.I caught you.
To my right, the massive projection of Silar turned its head, looking down at me. I felt Simon in my ear.
"Perfect," Simon’s voice buzzed. "The lighting is hitting you exactly right. You look like a blade, Tessa. You look sharp."
I reached the podium.
It was sleek, modern, transparent acrylic. Nothing to hide behind.
I gripped the sides. My knuckles didn't turn white this time. My hands were steady.
I looked out.
The lights made the audience a blur, a multi-headed hydra of faces in the dark. But I wasn't looking at them. I was looking at the front row.
Directly in front of me. Center. The best seat in the house.
Anders Svinton sat there.
He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He wore his charcoal suit like armor. His face was upturned, bathed in the glow of the stage lights. His icy blue eyes were locked onto mine with a terrifying, absolute intensity.
He wasn't checking his watch. He wasn't looking at the exit. He wasn't flinching from the possibility of disaster.
He was the authority, and he was giving me permission to burn the room down.
He nodded once. A sharp, affirmative jerk of his chin.
Speak,the gesture said.I have the perimeter. You have the floor.
I took a breath. I inhaled the scent of the theater, the heat of the lights, and the faint, lingering trace of my pack on my own skin.
I leaned into the microphone.
"Ten years ago," I said, my voice clear, amplified, ringing through the massive hall, "I walked onto a stage to give a speech about potential. I didn't finish it."
The silence that fell over the room was absolute. Two thousand people held their breath.
"I didn't finish it because I was afraid," I continued. "I was afraid of my own body. I was afraid of being seen. I was afraid that if I showed you the mess, you would look away."
Behind me, the projection shifted. Simon was drawing live. The charcoal lines swirled, forming a storm, a chaotic whirlwind of dark lines.
"So I ran," I said. "I ran to the edge of the world. I built a fortress of glass and silence. And I wrote."
I looked at Anders. He hadn't blinked. His gaze was updated tether holding me to the earth.
"I wrote about men who were strong enough to be weak," I said, my specific gaze flicking to Daniel in the wings, then to the invisible booth where Simon hid, then resting back on Anders. "I wrote about Alphas who didn't conquer, but protected. I wrote the fantasy of a pack because I didn't have one."
I paused. The hum of the room vibrated against my skin.
"They called me Graduation Girl," I said.
A ripple went through the crowd. A gasp. The acknowledgement of the elephant in the room.
