[Training Center – The Following Afternoon]

Garren didn’t have a session scheduled.

But he walked into the infirmary anyway.

No knock.

Just a calm entrance and the quiet sound of the door closing behind him.

Lydia Voss looked up from her desk. She froze for half a second, then closed the file in front of her.

“I didn’t call you,” she said.

“You didn’t have to.”

She leaned back, visibly tense. “You’re not injured.”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

He shrugged. “Felt off. Headache. Fatigue.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded.

Lydia stood and walked to the small counter beside the exam bench. She opened a cabinet. Her voice stayed calm, but her hand paused over the stethoscope.

“You’re wasting my time.”

“I doubt that.”

She turned around.

He was already unbuttoning his shirt.

Lydia’s gaze dropped without permission. She caught herself too late. Garren pulled the shirt off completely, folding it neatly and setting it on the bench beside him.

He sat down like he owned the place.

“Do your job, nurse.”

Her jaw locked.

She grabbed the stethoscope, stepped over, and pressed the diaphragm to his chest.

Her touch was more careful this time. Hesitant. She tried to keep her breathing even, but he could hear it shift.

She’s slipping.

“Deep breath,” she said.

He inhaled. Slow. Controlled.

Her hand was warm against his skin. He didn’t flinch. Just watched her.

She moved the stethoscope. Her fingers grazed the scar under his collarbone again.

“From a fight?” she asked, voice low.

He didn’t answer.

“Garren.”

He tilted his head. “You never called me that before.”

“You’re nineteen,” she muttered, as if reminding herself.

“So?”

“I’m a staff member.”

“You’re still looking.”

Lydia’s hand trembled slightly.

She moved the stethoscope lower.

His abdominal muscles were tight, sculpted. Faint bruising along one side.

She didn’t ask how he got it.

“Do I pass the test?” he asked.

“Your vitals are fine.”

“Not what I meant.”

She stepped back quickly and set the stethoscope down.

“You’re done,” she said, walking back to her desk.

He didn’t move.

She sat, adjusted her blouse collar, and pulled a form toward her—but didn’t write anything.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked finally.

“I could ask you the same.”

“You’re a student.”

“You’re not acting like I am.”

Lydia swallowed hard. She opened a drawer. Pulled out a white slip.

“Weekly wellness evaluation,” she said. “Mandatory for returning students.”

“That true?”

“No.”

He stood and walked over, close enough to lean on the edge of her desk.

She didn’t lean back. She just stared at the paper.

“Same time next week?” he asked.

She hesitated.

Then she nodded.

Garren took the form and left without another word.

[That Night – Lydia’s Apartment]

Lydia sat on her bed in the dark, phone in hand.

She looked at his record again. The university had reinstated him with limited visibility. No official transcript. No club activity. Transfer approval signed directly by the dean.

No one had that kind of pull.

Except Veronica Wolfe.

Why did she let him back in?

He was too young.

Too composed.

He didn’t react like the other students. Didn’t posture. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t break eye contact. And he didn’t flirt.

What he did was worse.

He watched her like he already knew what she wanted.

She got up, walked to the bathroom, and turned on the shower.

Water hit tile. Steam filled the room.

She stripped. Stepped inside.

Her hands moved slowly. Over her stomach. Between her thighs.

She didn’t think about anyone else.

Just him.

[Next Morning – Lecture Hall 4C]

Aria was already seated when Garren entered.

She didn’t speak. Just nodded once. A quiet acknowledgment. Nothing more.

The professor passed out materials. Group presentations next week.

“You’ll be paired with Wolfe,” the instructor said, pointing toward Aria.

She tensed. Garren didn’t.

After class, she cornered him near the door.

“Don’t think this means we’re working together,” she said.

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“I’m not some nurse you can seduce.”

He tilted his head.

“I haven’t touched her.”

“You don’t need to,” Aria snapped. “She’s sweating every time your name comes up.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he stepped forward just enough to make her stop talking.

“I’ll do the work,” he said. “You just stand there and pretend you’re in charge.”

Then he walked off.

The weight room lights buzzed softly. Most students had already cleared out.

Garren didn’t care.

He was on the bench press, arms steady, reps slow. No spotter. No shirt. Just raw control.

Each set burned clean through the silence.

He wasn’t working out for strength.

He was working out to clear his head. Or maybe to sharpen it.

And it worked.

He heard the door open. Didn’t look.

Soft steps.

Then: high heels.

He racked the bar.

Lydia stood near the side wall, her white coat open over a black top. Clipboard in hand. She didn’t move closer.

“You shouldn’t be here alone,” she said.

He wiped his face with a towel and sat up.

“I’m not.”

She looked down at the clipboard. Something to keep her eyes off his body.

“Weekly vitals. Starting today.”

He smirked. “Thought that was next week.”

She looked up. Her expression was tight.

“I changed it.”

She clearly hadn’t.

But she needed an excuse.

“Pulse,” she said.

He stood and walked toward her. Didn’t stop until he was close.

Too close.

She didn’t step back.

He held out his wrist.

Her fingers closed around it. Warm. Hesitant.

They stood like that in silence. Just the hum of the lights above them.

“You work late,” he said quietly.

“It’s part of the job.”

“You always this thorough?”

“Not always.”

His pulse stayed steady.

Hers didn’t.

He tilted his head. “You didn’t check my breathing.”

She tried to pull her hand back. He didn’t let go.

“Breathe, Nurse Voss,” he said, tone low.

She did. Shallow. Controlled. Barely.

His hand released hers.

She stepped away and turned around quickly, pretending to write something.

“I’ll log the results,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

She walked out without another word.

[Next Morning – Dorm Balcony, 6:30 AM]

Garren stood shirtless, a towel over his shoulders, watching the mist roll off the quad.

His phone buzzed.

Aria: Class moved to 4C. Don’t make me chase you again.

He smiled.

He didn’t reply.

Instead, he walked back inside, dropped the towel, and stepped into the shower.