OPERATION WINTERSPINE (Strings Between Us Book 2)

CHAPTER NINE: OF BLINDFOLDED BLADES, INVISIBLE LINES,

Bianchi snapped her pen in half. "No way. No way! She triggered nothing!"

Thres handed her the flag with a grunt. "Told you. She's the knife."

Keryn clapped slowly, mock-regal. "Bravo, Captain. Should we start calling you 'Bladequeen Blindfold'?"

Riyee didn't laugh. Didn't smirk. She simply turned, chin high, and stared up at the LED monitor. And somewhere in the distance—though no one said it—KD was staring right back.

But not as a strategist. Not as President. Not even as her partner. For a moment... he was just stunned. Silent. Still.

Because Riyee had burned through the field—and hadn't missed a single step.

This wasn't just competition anymore. This was warfare.

And Ardent Court? They weren't just playing. They were rewriting the rules.

KD'S POV

The crowd didn't see it, but I did—from the moment Riyee vanished into the exit tunnel after the final whistle, I'd been tracking every second. Lyle had slung an arm over Xythe's shoulder like nothing mattered. Thres handed their final flag to a sobbing freshman like a knight bestowing a sword. Tofer had already vanished. Of course he had.

And Riyee—she was still in her blindfold when she stepped off the platform.

I hadn't moved from my seat since the game started, but now, with the giant Aureum monitors flipping to highlight reels and the crowd distracted, I stood.

"Where are you going?" Jodie asked, startled.

"To breathe," I muttered. "Preferably somewhere she isn't getting herself killed."

I waited by the locker hallway.

I wasn't supposed to. I wasn't part of Sports Week. But that didn't stop me from finding the nearest service door that gave me a view of the west hall—right outside the changing bay the Ardent Court used.

And when she finally came out, my chest almost gave out.

Hair still a little messy from the helmet. Uniform zipped halfway. She looked like she had just returned from war and somehow still managed to smile like it was recess.

She opened her mouth to say something sarcastic—I beat her to it. I closed the distance in two steps and pulled her into my arms. Hard. Too hard.

She stilled. No protest. No snark. Just silence.

"You went blindfolded," I muttered into her shoulder. "What part of that sounded like a good idea to you? Who does that, Riyee?"

No answer. Just the sound of her breathing.

"You could've slipped. Hit a ledge. Missed a flag. Got disqualified. Got hurt. Or worse—" My voice cracked. I shut my eyes. "Do you ever think before you throw yourself into chaos like that?"

Still nothing. It made it worse.

"You scared the hell out of me," I whispered. "I didn't breathe for six minutes straight because you decided to play phantom sniper with a cloth tied over your eyes. Riyee, you are the most frustrating person I've ever—" My jaw locked. "And I don't know what I'm supposed to do if something ever happens to you."

It was too much. It was too real. But I couldn't stop.

Because I had imagined it—what if she missed the platform by a step? What if no one caught her? What if the audience screamed and it wasn't for a winning moment but a fall?

I would've torn the entire gym apart. I pulled back, barely able to breathe.

She looked up at me—no smirk, no teasing flick in her eyes. Then slowly... she tiptoed. And kissed my cheek. Everything stilled.

"You were watching the whole time, weren't you?" she whispered.

I didn't speak. My voice wouldn't come.

She smiled, soft—only for me.

"That's why I didn't get scared." She touched my chest lightly. "You always see me... even when I can't see you back."

Something in me shattered, quietly. I gripped her waist, steadying myself.

"Of course I watched." My voice was low, hoarse. "Because if anything had happened to you... I don't think I'd survive it, Riyee."

And that was the closest I'd come to breaking my own silence. To saying everything.

We started walking—her hand brushing close to mine, our steps syncing like muscle memory, like we'd done this a thousand times before.

The chaos of the stealth relay had given way to the soft, golden calm of early evening. Most of the crowd had thinned, the festival buzz giving way to gentle chatter and distant laughter. I walked a little ahead, instinctively keeping her close, scanning every student that passed like I could glare away the entire world if it looked at her wrong.

And then—

"Well, well, well..."

Alexie's voice sliced clean through the air like a glitter-dipped guillotine.

I stopped.

"Would you look at our icy president doing post-game cool-downs with a certain headstrong sniper?"

Riyee groaned next to me. I didn't move.

"We were right behind you the whole time, by the way," Saichel added, spinning a flag stick like he'd just come from a parade. "Watched every second. And for the record? That wasn't the president we helped during Operation: Bring Back the Ice President."

"No kidding," Seb snorted. "You should've seen yourself watching the monitors earlier. Cold. Sharp. Emotionless. Like a blade. Scary stuff."

"Icy hot!" Alexie squealed, clapping like she just renamed a K-drama. "You were icy hot, Khaizer. Keyword: hot."

"But with Ari, he melts," Keryn sang out like a lullaby.

Tofer, who hadn't looked up, deadpanned, "That's what they call love."

Riyee laughed beside me—actually laughed—and that sound nearly knocked the air from my lungs.

I blinked, pulse still uneven, and muttered, "You all sound like you rehearsed this."

"We did," Alexie grinned.

Of course they did.

As we neared their restricted dorm gates, Riyee bumped shoulders with Saichel and Alexie, laughing again. Like the tension from earlier never happened. Like I hadn't almost lost it watching her take hits and sprint through shadows like her life depended on it.

God, the blindfold. The kiss. Her heartbeat thundering under my hand.

My steps slowed. My voice finally caught up.

"You scared me today."

She blinked, then tilted her head, eyes soft and warm. "I know. I'm sorry."

"You're not allowed to get hurt. Ever." My voice came out sharper than I meant. I didn't care. "Not when I'm this close. Not when I can't move to protect you."

"Then stay close." Her hand brushed mine again—smaller, steady. "I won't run."