Scott had always been the type to stay calm under pressure. But as you and Scott found yourselves in the cramped, pitch-black closet, the familiar sense of urgency crept into his chest.

You’d been hunting a rogue alpha together, tracking it through the winding hallways of an old, abandoned house on the outskirts of Beacon Hills. Everything had been going fine—until the trap was sprung.

The door slammed shut behind you with a violent force, and the tiny room was plunged into darkness. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the blackness, but the stifling silence hung heavy in the air.

"Great," Scott muttered, trying to move toward the door, only to find that there was no handle on the inside. He felt the edges of the walls, his fingers brushing against rough plaster.

Your breath was close, but not quite touching him. He could feel the presence, though, that familiarity between you that had once been so comforting.

Your relationship had shifted—awkward at first after the breakup, but now... things were different. You fought together, laughed together, and despite the distance that had been put between you, there was still something undeniable.

"Are you okay?" Scott asked, his voice softer than he intended. He was used to being the protector, the one people leaned on, but right now, he felt just as trapped as you.