Page 14 of Sins of the Hidden

"Let's begin." Faith spun fiercely, eyes locked with Tyrant's as she descended into a low crouch before rising with fluid control that made my attempts feel clumsy by comparison.

I tried to follow along, my movements wooden and disconnected. Every graceful movement from Faith highlighted my clumsy attempts. Her lithe form carved clean lines through the air while my body betrayed me again, stumbling awkwardly under scrutiny, each misstep tightening the knot in my chest.

Nyla nudged me gently, whispering, "You're doing fine," but her reassurance only heightened my awareness of how untrue it was. I wasn't fine. I wasn't graceful. I wasn't them.

The music continued its relentless rhythm, but the easy atmosphere had evaporated. Faith's movements became sharper, more controlled. Her body flowed like liquid fire, hips pulsing with the beat, arms carving through the air with devastation. Sweat beaded along her spine, darkening the fabric of her sports bra as she demonstrated a complicated sequence. Beside me, Nyla matched her effortlessly, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity.

"Feel the music," Faith instructed, demonstrating a body roll that made Knight whistle appreciatively. "Let it pull you. Don't think, just move."

Easy for her to say. My feet tangled through steps like I was wading through mud, following Faith's lead while my mind wandered to dark places. My reflection exposed every misstep, magnifying the gulf between their grace and my awkwardness. A bitter envy took root, deepening with each flawless spin they executed.

Knight caught my eye in the mirror, offering an encouraging nod. "You're getting it, Oak." The lie was kind but transparent.

I stumbled through a turn, nearly colliding with Joslyn, who steadied me with a gentle hand on my elbow. My skin prickled hot beneath their stares, stomach twisting tighter with each missed step.

Tyrant moved with surprising grace for his size, his tattooed body transforming each step into living art. The ink across his skin animated with each movement, telling stories with each flex and extension. Knight matched his rhythm, both men creating a lethal sort of poetry that magnetized everyone in the room. Their muscles gleamed under the spotlights, their confidence contagious, highlighting the hollowness beneath my ribs with each movement they executed.

The low light at the back became my refuge as I attempted to follow along, shrinking with each beat. The space between my shoulder blades burned. The music shifted into something faster, more demanding, forcing me to move closer to Nyla and Joslyn as the choreography changed. Sweat gathered beneath my shirt as I struggled to keep pace.

My breath came in short, painful gasps that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the crushing weight of self-consciousness. The large mirror at the front of the studio reflected all six of us. Their bodies glided effortlessly while my reflection mocked every misstep, magnifying each awkward move.

Heat twisted in my stomach, my breath catching painfully at their effortless confidence. They inhabited their bodies with an ease I couldn't comprehend, wearing themselves without apology while I spent every moment trying to disappear. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, blurring the unforgiving fluorescents into starbursts.

I pulled nervously at the shirt hem, the damp cloth clinging stubbornly like a second skin. The movement threw me off rhythm, and I stumbled, foot catching on nothing, body lurching forward. My pulse skittered, each heartbeat hammering painfully. Heat rose up my neck into my face. My shoulders curved inward beneath a weight no one else could see, a companion that choked the air from my lungs. The lights pierced down relentlessly, baring my discomfort, spotlighting my mistake as though determined to expose every reason I didn't belong.

"You okay?" Tyrant called out, genuine concern in his voice that somehow made everything worse. Several heads turned my way, multiplying my humiliation with each pair of eyes.

Nyla caught my eye, offering an encouraging smile. "Everyone falls sometimes," she whispered, kindness radiating from her in waves that somehow cut deeper than any cruelty could. I ducked my head, throat tightening. Her kindness was a spotlight, illuminating everything I tried to hide. I pulled my lips upward, muscles stiff, corners of my mouth trembling with the effort.

Each step dragged heavier, the mirror reflecting every graceless stumble like accusations. I retreated further into the darkness at the back of the studio, attempting once again to vanish into myself. If I could just become small enough, invisible enough, maybe the vice grip around my lungs would release.

Joslyn flowed effortlessly, her precise spins and graceful steps embodying the music in ways I couldn't mimic. Her body transformed sound into movement without conscious thought. Even in the dim back corner, I couldn't escape the sight of myself. Different. Exposed. Inadequate. The jealousy twisted deeper, morphing into a self-hatred so consuming I recognized it as an old friend.

"Don't think about it so much," Faith instructed the class, but her eyes found mine. "Let your body remember instead of your head."

But my body remembered only how to hide, how to make itself small, how to disappear. It didn't know how to claim space, how to move with confidence, how to be seen. The music surged, pulsing through the wooden floorboards and buzzing beneath my skin, claiming everyone but me.

The door exploded inward with a deafening crack, wood splintering like bone beneath a sledgehammer. Shards sprayed across the studio floor, some skittering all the way to the mirrors.

Sarge stormed through the wreckage like a wrecking ball in black—hood pulled low, his scarred face half-shadowed and monstrous in the light.

And behind him, V emerged like a demon wearing skin. His footsteps were quiet, too quiet, slicing through the silence with an unnatural calm. His eyes swept over the room, stopping when they found me. Dried blood flaked from his bat onto the polished floor, and his shadow stretched long across the hardwood—reaching for my feet like it already owned me.

The scent hit me first—leather, gunpowder, and stale blood. My knees locked, heartbeat hammering violently as my senses snapped back to that basement, the crematorium's gaping mouth, heat shimmering above scorched metal. His eyes, void-black beneath the mask, watched me again, cataloging every flinch, every panicked breath. I could almost feel my back scraping against brick, trapped in a room designed to erase lives. My vision blurred, reality fracturing, until the studio mirror rippled like the darkened walls of Hellbound itself.

My body stiffened instinctively, recognizing danger before my mind did—heart seizing, ears ringing, palms suddenly clammy. Through the mirror, his eyes pinned mine, unblinking,owning every inhale until my chest burned. My limbs turned heavy as stone, leaden as that night when he'd carried me effortlessly over gravel and dirt, toward a house where nightmares became flesh. My skin remembered every inch of him, every bruise his grip had etched onto my waist. The blood-crusted wood in his hand wasn't just a weapon—it was a promise and reminder, the splintered echo of basement floorboards beneath my trembling fingers.

"Well shit," Knight muttered, stepping forward slightly. The movement drew V's attention for a fraction of a second—enough time for me to press myself against the mirror, wishing I could melt through it.

The room felt twenty degrees colder. V took another step inside, boots crunching over remnants of the destroyed door. The studio door lay shattered behind him, splintered wood a jagged echo of that basement door he'd once dragged me through, dust and fragments raining down like judgment. It reminded me of the other day when Dad had stormed through, desperate and bleeding, fighting a battle he couldn't win. Now, Knight and Tyrant shifted, creating a barrier that would crumble like paper if V decided to reach me. We all knew it wouldn't matter. Nothing could stop him when he wanted something. He swallowed the studio's light, leaving me trapped in darkness. I craned my neck, memories flooding of how he'd stood in the basement, his massive shoulders blotting out escape, every muscle coiled beneath my skin that had never bruised, never yielded. Nothing had changed. His form eclipsed everything, erasing escape routes.

Faith’s voice cracked through the shock. “That’s my fucking door! Do you assholes have to destroy everything you touch?”

Sarge didn't spare her a glance, his attention laser-focused on Joslyn. "Buy a fuckin' new one." The words rumbled from his chest like distant thunder, the scarred side of his face catchinglight as he turned. The mangled tissue stretched from his jaw down his neck, a roadmap of survival that made most people flinch away.

Tyrant shifted his weight, muscles bunched tight, tension thrumming beneath his skin as he watched the scene unfold. His easy smirk faltered when V's bottomless eyes swept past him. "Shit's about to get real interesting," he quipped, earning a sharp elbow from Knight.

"Not helping, brother." The words hung in the air like a challenge, Faith fighting against him tooth and nail.

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