Page 9 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
Then there’s Noah.
I watch as he demonstrates backdraft with a sealed glass box and smoke. When flames explode upward, I flinch.
He notices.
“Know what to look for before the blast happens,” he says, aimed at the group, but I feel the words cut toward me. “Read the signs. Anticipate the danger.”
I nod, but something tightens.
Because I do know. I’ve felt danger like a storm front before. That’s how I’ve stayed alive.
And Noah is a storm that’s still gathering.
Today, I play the rookie. Quiet. Observant.
Sometimes survival means pretending you don’t see the fire coming even when it's licking at your heels.
In the afternoon, we move to the rigs. Noah stands by the engine like it’s his throne, explaining layout and tools. His voice is steady, but there’s weight to it. Like he’s daring us to miss something.
He calls on us one by one. Taylor fumbles a hydrant. Rivas trips on the hose. Nicole aces her drill.
Then it’s my turn.
“Show me you can handle it, Knowles,” Noah says, tone unreadable.
The jaws of life are heavier than expected. Metal gleaming. Coiled with power. I grip the handles—and a jolt runs through me.
Not static. Not nerves.
Magic.
A spark flares at the contact, crackling into the pavement.
Gasps.
“What the hell was that?” Jamie mutters.
I glance around. No Marcus. If it’s a prank, he’s outdone himself. Still, I play it off.
“Marcus, you little gremlin,” I say, scrunching my eyes. “Hiding under the truck with a cattle prod again?”
Laughter.
But not from Noah.
He’s staring at me. Intently.
There’s something in his eyes. Knowing. Ancient.
I flash a grin and return the jaws to their cradle.
Note to self: Stay away from Noah Benson.
Not just for the mission.
To protect my magical secrets.
Captain Greene arrives after lunch, silhouette sharp against sunlit bay doors. He approaches, clipboard in hand.
