OPERATION WINTERSPINE (Strings Between Us Book 2)

CHAPTER EIGHT: OF CRIMSON ENTRANCES, COLD KISSES, AND THE STORM

And before I could say a word, he kissed me again. This time on the lips. Then walked away like nothing happened.

I didn't even realize I was standing until Xylia elbowed me. "You good? Or should we get you a bucket of ice to sit on?"

"I'm gonna kill him," I muttered.

"That's one way to say 'I love you too,'" Jodie grinned.

But my mood soured quickly as I glanced at the gym clock.

7:58 AM

"Where the hell are they?" I hissed.

The crowd noticed too. Whispers traveled like wildfire:

"Maybe they backed out."
"They chickened out."
"Knew they wouldn't show."

Because right before the clock struck 8:00—the storm arrived.

I felt it first through the ring.

Xythe's rhythm sharpened—it clicked like a breath drawn just before a strike. Focused. Cold, but not detached. He was excited... but already calculating the aftermath. Always three steps ahead, even when the game thrilled him.

My thumb grazed the edge of my pinky ring, grounding the signal pulsing against mine.

And Saichel? His heartbeat danced—skipping, flaring, vanishing like a dare. Reckless. Elusive. Grinning, even when I wasn't looking. I could feel it.

I could feel them.

And somewhere between their chaos and control, my own pulse held steady.
Listening. Reading. Waiting.

And the doors opened. The gym didn't fall silent. It froze. The air changed temperature. Like the atmosphere itself had inhaled.

Eight of them. Dressed in battle gear. Moving like war had grown legs—and chosen this court as its battlefield.

They didn't walk in. They marched.

Each wore the Ardent Court's custom combat uniform-tailored black-and-crimson sportswear lined with armored threading, crests stitched into their chests, and signature weapons slung, strapped, or spinning casually in hand.

Xythe, with his midnight blue accents and longbow across his back. Lyle, golden and regal, adjusted the silver fencing plate stitched to his chest like a king bored of ceremony. Keryn, emerald and dangerous, twirled her épée like a dancer. Her top shimmered-backless, ruthless. Alexie, in violet-black, spun her pistol in one hand, her bow already prepped on her back. Saichel, cocky as ever, wore his icy blue jacket half-zipped, gold daggers glinting under the gym lights. Thres was pure war-ash gray streaked with blood red, a massive case slung over one shoulder. Seb and Tofer, twin storms in steel and white, moved silently behind them-chains coiled, laptops blinking.

They didn't look like athletes. They looked like a revolution.

"They don't look like students..." someone whispered.

They weren't. They were the Court. And the gym finally realized what that meant.

"Are those even from Allievo?!" someone yelled.

"That's Celestine gear!"

"You better shut up," Keryn called out coolly, not even pausing. "We passed the inspection committee."

"You're late," I snapped, arms crossed as Xythe came to a stop in front of me.

He tossed me my bow like we were passing notes. "We arrived before the opening whistle. That's called dramatic timing. Learn it."