Page 82 of Reckless: Collision

Even if part of me is already cataloging which parts of my success I want to show Jinx. Which improvements might make Ryker’s jaw clench with reluctant approval. How Finn would calculate my progress and Theo would turn it into art.

Screw it. Another run through the course. This time with a little more style.

After all, what’s the point of flying solo if no one sees you soar?

The second run feels like dancing. My body remembers where to grip, when to push, how to flow from one obstacle to the next. The moves that felt impossible yesterday now come with a fluid grace that surprises even me.

Each landing sends tiny shocks through my system, but the pain feels cleansing. Better than lying in bed counting ceiling tiles and feeling sorry for myself. Better than overthinking every touch, every look, every moment where I almost let myself belong.

I pause at the highest point of the beginner’s course, sweat cooling on my skin despite the pre-dawn chill. Below, moonlight silvers the tops of pine trees, their branches swaying in the pre-dawn breeze. The forest wraps around the mansion likea protective wall, shielding us from the chaos of Puritan City beyond. Somewhere past this manufactured peace, past the careful isolation Pack Locke has built, Sterling Labs’ secrets wait to be exposed. Somewhere in that distant city, betas are dying while I play ninja warrior on a pack’s rooftop.

But for once, the guilt doesn’t crush me. Maybe it’s the endorphins. Maybe it’s the satisfaction of proving—if only to myself—that I’m not helpless. Not weak. Not just some beta who needs four dominant men to keep her safe.

Screw it. One more run.

This time I add my own flourishes—a twist here, a roll there, movements that feel more like self-expression than survival. My period cramps have faded to background noise, overcome by the pure joy of movement.

I nail a particularly tricky sequence, one that had given me trouble yesterday, and have to bite back a victory cry. The sound wants to bubble up from somewhere deep, somewhere that feels suspiciously like happiness.

Dawn breaks over the mountains just as I complete the circuit, painting everything in shades of gold and promise. I’m sweaty, sore, and probably in for one hell of a lecture when they catch me—because let’s be real, they always catch me.

But standing here, breath steaming in the morning air, I feel something I haven’t since this whole mess started.

Powerful.

Free.

Like maybe I don’t have to choose between being strong and being protected. Between independence and connection. Between flying solo and having a safety net.

The sun crests the horizon, and I swear I catch a whiff of cherry tobacco on the breeze.

The thrill of success hums through my veins, making me cocky. Making mereckless. The more advanced section of thecourse beckons—the one Jinx specifically warned me against trying alone. The one with wider gaps and steeper drops.

But I’ve just crushed the beginner’s run. Three times. And the growing light makes every handhold clear as day.

Don’t, whispers the sensible part of my brain. The part that calculates risks and plans escape routes.

Do it, urges the part of me that jumps between buildings and hacks secure systems.

Guess which part wins?

I eye the first real challenge—a leap to a higher ledge that requires more upper body strength than I probably possess. The smart thing would be to wait. To train. To let them teach me.

I’ve never been good at smart.

The jump starts well enough—my feet find the right launch point, my hands reach for the grip Jinx had pointed out yesterday. But somewhere between takeoff and landing, my body remembers it’s fighting a monthly civil war. The cramp hits mid-air, turning graceful movement into desperate flailing.

Time stretches like corrupted data as I realize I’m not going to make it. Not going to stick the landing. Not going to?—

Strong arms catch me with mathematical precision, absorbing the impact like it was calculated down to the newton. A familiar scent of earl grey and rain-washed stone surrounds me as I find myself cradled against Finn’s chest.

“Interesting training technique,” he says mildly, those clever eyes studying me through slightly fogged glasses. “Though your trajectory suggested a 73% chance of injury without intervention.”

Of course he calculated the odds. Of course he’s here exactly when I need him. Of course the beta I least expect to find on the roof at dawn is the one who catches me.

“I had it under control.” The lie tastes weak even to me.

“Did you?” His smile holds more understanding than judgment. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to prove something that doesn’t need proving.”

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