Page 23 of Endo

Talon, however, isn’t ready to let it go just yet. His eyes are still sharp, his posture rigid. He’s not the type to back down, but the situation is clearly evolving in front of him.

Revel and the rest of the guys exchange words under their breath, the conversation picking up speed and heat, but Talon holds up a hand to stop it. “Enough,” he says, his voice low but carrying weight. “Revel’s a Demon now. We don’t fight amongst ourselves.”

There’s a tense moment of silence as we all look around, the team processing the order, and then slowly, one by one, the guys nod in reluctant agreement.

I can’t help but let out a deep breath, the anger and frustration bubbling under my skin slowly settling into a tightknot of acceptance. Things are changing, but maybe that’s what we all need—a little shift, some realignment.

“Tomorrow morning,” Reign says, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Be ready. We start then.”

I nod again, this time feeling a little more resolute. Tomorrow, I’ll be back on the bike, closer to Cruz, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll feel like I’m finally starting to find my way again.

10

LENA

Unsteady - X Ambassadors

I pullinto the parking lot at Breakwater Point, the sound of gravel crunching beneath my tires as I come to a stop. The ocean stretches out in front of me, dark and vast under the dusky sky, the salt in the air thick as the setting sun glints off the surface of the water. The parking lot is mostly empty, save for a few stray cars, but the sound of waves crashing against the rocks nearby is a reminder of just how far out this place is. It’s quiet, serene even, but the tension in my chest is anything but peaceful.

I kill the engine, letting the bike idle for a moment, the exhaust rumbling softly as the silence sinks in. The chill blowing inland off the ocean bites at my skin, but it’s the feeling in the pit of my stomach that stings the most. Nerves coil tight inside me, and for a moment, all I can hear is the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. I keep telling myself that I’m fine, that I can handle this, but the truth is, I’m not.

I’m scared, but not of the bike. I’m scared of being here, alone with Reign.

We used to hang out all the time—Reign, Cruz, and me. But that was before. That was before everything changed. The crash, Cruz... it all feels too fresh, like the wound hasn’t even begun to heal despite the six months that have passed, and here I am, about to face the one person I’ve avoided the most.

Not because of anything he did, but because of everything that happened that day. Everything we all lost.

But I know I need this. I know the guys are right. If I’m going to keep racing, I need training, and if anyone’s going to do it, it’s Reign. He’s patient. He’s the one I trust most out of all of them. Even if his presence feels a little too heavy right now.

I take a deep breath and step off my bike, trying to mask the flutter in my chest with a roll of my eyes and a forced smirk. I adjust my helmet, fingers a little too shaky for my liking.

“Did you set up shop out here just for me, or are you waiting for someone else?” I ask, my voice coming out a little more breathless than I intended.

Reign is standing by his Mustang, leaning casually against it as he watches me. He’s got that same easy posture, but there’s something different about him now. He’s taller than I remember, or maybe it’s just the way he’s standing. His shoulders are broad, his dark shirt clinging to his chest. But it’s his eyes that are the hardest to ignore—dark, focused, and they never leave me. There’s no teasing in them this time. No jokes. Just something sharp, something that feels like a warning and an invitation all at once.

“Does it matter? You’re here now,” he says, his voice deeper than usual, steady, with none of the usual levity. “Let’s get to work.”

I fight the instinct to tell him I’m fine, that I don’t need this. I force my hands to steady as I grip my bike, trying to look confident. I know I’m not. I know I’m shaky as hell. Reigncrosses his arms, his gaze never leaving me. There’s no room for excuses here. No room for pride.

“Let’s start with the basics,” he says, his voice firm. “Your posture’s off. You’re slouching. Lean forward more, keep your back straight.”

I want to argue, want to tell him I know what I’m doing, but the words don’t come. Instead, I adjust my posture, forcing my back straight even though it feels unnatural. His eyes still don’t leave me, studying every small movement I make. The intensity of his gaze is like a weight pressing down on me, and I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. There’s no playfulness in his expression. Just pure focus. It almost feels like he’s looking through me.

“Better,” he says, his tone still hard but with a slight shift, like he’s giving me credit for trying. “Now, get a feel for the throttle. No jerking. Be smooth.”

I grip the throttle and twist, but the bike jerks beneath me, sending a jolt up my spine. My stomach lurches with nerves, and I can feel my face flush with frustration. I’m not used to this. Not used to someone telling me what to do, not used to feeling like I’m not in control. Reign doesn’t say anything right away, but I know he’s watching me closely.

“Smooth, Lena,” he says again, but this time there’s a hardness to his voice. “Relax. You’re fighting the bike.”

I can feel my pulse quicken, my hands tightening around the handlebars. I try again, but the bike feels like a beast I can’t tame. Every rev of the engine makes my nerves spike higher, the fluttering in my chest growing. It’s not about the speed. It’s about the control, and I can’t seem to get it right.

“Relax,” Reign repeats, moving closer. His boots scrape against the gravel as he steps behind me. I can feel the air shift, the heat of his body too close, and before I know it, his hands are on my shoulders, adjusting my posture. His touch is firm, butthere’s something almost intimate about it, like he’s doing this because he needs to, but his touch lingers longer than necessary.

“You need to trust me, Lena,” he says, his voice rough. “This isn’t just about riding. It’s about you trusting yourself enough to listen. To not fight everything.”

I don’t know why, but something about his words hits me hard. His breath is warm against the back of my neck, and I can feel his presence wrapping around me, almost like I can’t escape it. I hate that I need his help. I hate that I’m not as in control as I’d like to be.

“I don’t need your pity,” I snap, my voice cracking, even though it’s not what I mean. It’s the last thing I want to say. I feel small, stupid, and I can’t stand it.

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