Reverie stayed in the corner of the training grounds, watching as Wrath leaned casually against the wall. A blonde woman stood close to him, her laughter cutting through the air as she touched his arm. The sight was all too familiar, yet it still made something sharp twist in Reverie’s chest.

She told herself it didn’t matter. They barely spoke beyond brief exchanges during work, and yet she couldn’t stop watching him. It wasn’t just attraction—it was the magnetic pull he seemed to have, the way he carried himself with a dark, untouchable confidence.

Her fingers tightened at her sides as Wrath moved, his pace slow and unhurried. The blonde followed him, her steps eager. As he passed, his gaze flicked to where Reverie stood. It was quick, sharp, but it lingered just long enough to make her breath catch.

He didn’t stop or say anything, just kept walking as if her presence didn’t matter. But that glance—it told her he knew. He knew she’d been watching him. And somehow, that made it even harder to look away.