Page 66 of Legacy Found

"Somebody died doing it twenty years ago."

"That's bullshit," Freya says.

"It's probably bullshit," Renzo allows.

"Excellent," I say. "Very reassuring. I feel great about all of this."

We keep joking, because the only alternative is saying out loud that we're scared out of our minds, and nobody wants to go first. So we laugh, and we speculate about tunnels.

Because my problem isn't the tunnels.

My problem is that I still haven't shifted.

The other latents have started — eyes flashing gold when they're angry, a new sharpness to how they move, and two of them have actually done it now, full and whole. Everyone treats it like the most natural thing in the world, the next stage arriving on schedule.

Mine hasn't arrived at all. No flash. No pull. No wolf pacing under my skin the way Torres once described. Just me. And the Trial is built for shifters. What happens if I walk in there tomorrow and everyone becomes something, and I'm still only Jessica?

I don't sleep. I pace.

And under the fear, all evening, there's the other thing — the awareness that's been growing since the two arcs appeared on my wrist. I can feel Torres. Not his thoughts, just a scorching heat at the edge of my mind, a low, demanding hum of presence, like standing too close to a bonfire. Tonight it's stronger than it's ever been. And there's a second thread beside it, heavier and darker, that I've been deliberately not examining, because I know exactly whose it is, and just thinking about it makes my breath hitch.

So when the knock comes, I'm not surprised it's Torres.

He steps inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click that locks out the rest of the world. One look at me and his amber eyes darken. "You're pacing."

"I'm fine."

He gives me a flat, dangerous look and waits. Torres has never once let me get away with I'm fine, and right now, he looks like a predator who's tired of watching his prey run in circles.

I break. "I haven't shifted."

"I know."

"I'm terrified the Trial needs it. What if we all get in there and everybody turns into wolves and I'm just — standing there. Jessica. The one latent who couldn't."

He considers it, closing the distance between us until the air between our bodies feels thick enough to choke on. "Jessica's pretty terrifying, though."

I throw a pillow at him. He catches it effortlessly, a slow, wicked grin pulling at his mouth — and then he drops it to the floor, all humor vanishing as he stalks toward me like a wolf backing a deer into a corner.

"Hey. Look at me." He traps me against the edge of the mattress, his hands coming down on either side of my hips, caging me in. "You saved Renzo without a wolf. Earned a hundred and eight Merit Marks without one. Survived a full year of Celeste Faris without a single homicide, which is genuinely the most impressive thing."

That drags a breathless laugh out of me, but it dies instantly when his gaze drops to my mouth.

"Whatever's in there tomorrow, you don't need to be something else to face it. You never have."

That's the thing about Torres. He doesn't make the heat disappear; he pours gasoline on it until it's the only thing that matters.

The laughter fades, and my skin prickles everywhere he's touching me. The warmth of the bond and the raw heat of his body are a tangled, intoxicating mess, and the ache I've buried for months finally snaps.

"What?" he murmurs, his thumb catching my lower lip, tracing it with an agonizing, possessive slowness.

I look up into his eyes, dilated and dark. "Nothing."

"Liar."

So I kiss him.

No accident this time. No almost, no Sophia at the door. I choose it — lean up and crash my mouth into his. He goes completely rigid for half a second, a low, rumbling growl vibrating deep in his chest of pure, unadulterated surprise, before his hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back to give him better access as he devours me back.