The Matchmaker (by Sophie Smith) novel Chapter 102

CHAPTER 102

The door swung open with purpose, Saphira’s fingers stilled over the open folder, the murmur of parchment against skin drowned beneath the shift in air pressure. Her gaze snapped upward, breath catching halfway through the inhale as Nikolas stepped inside. His movements were precise; jaw set in that particular way he carried when something didn’t sit right.

“I need you all for a moment,” he said, voice low–clipped. Intentional, “We found a werewolf outside the south border. She’s claiming she was banished by the Matchmaker.”

Saphira’s eyes sharpened, a chill crawling down the back of her neck. Anastasia straightened instinctively, fingers paused mid–note over a half–read report.

Saphira didn’t move. Her breath held in her chest, pulse nudging upward. Is she telling the truth? Or just desperate enough to lie?

Nikolas crossed to the edge of the table with slow deliberation, arms folding tightly as if the weight of the news needed grounding in muscle. “She’s calm, but… her story’s fragmented. Too clean in places. Too vague in others.” He hesitated, gaze drifting to the wall as if reviewing unseen data. “It doesn’t match the official protocols–but I only saw them from the outside. As a leader. Not a prospect.”

Zafira leaned in, fingers laced, brows furrowed. “You want me to speak with her?”

He nodded once, tension in the motion itself. “You’re the best we have at reading between lines.”

Saphira’s weight shifted forward before she could stop herself. Her voice came quiet but sure. “Why not me?”

Nikolas turned, and there was a flicker of gentleness in his eyes. Not soft–but thoughtful. Measured. “I want you watching. From a distance. Watch how she reacts, how she moves, where she hesitates.” He held her gaze for a beat longer. “Compare it to what you lived through. If something feels off–1 need your instincts. Not just my suspicion.”

Saphira nodded slowly, her knuckles pressing against the edge of the table. Her stomach knotted–not with dread, but memory. Unseen. Uncertain. Forced to guess what others were planning and why. It would mean revisiting that space–not just physically, but emotionally.

But she understood. Trust wasn’t given lightly here. Not anymore.

Nikolas pivoted to Anastasia next. “Finn asked me to let you know he’s at the clearing with Amara. He said come by when you’re ready for training.”

Anastasia rose, smoothing down her shirt as though brushing off the weight of the moment. “I’ll go now,” she said, her voice steady, gaze flicking once to Saphira. “If anything shifts–or you need me–call. I’ll come back.”

Saphira offered a small smile, grateful for the simplicity of the promise. “I will. Thank you.”

The door clicked softly behind Anastasia as she exited, leaving the air stretched with expectation.

Zafira straightened, fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the table’s edge. “Where do you want me to speak to her?”

Nikolas rubbed at his jaw, glancing sideways in thought. “Somewhere private. But Saphira needs to watch. Without being seen…”

Zafira’s mouth twitched upward, gaze gleaming with subtle amusement. “The movie room.”

Nikolas looked up, one brow lifting.

She tapped her temple lightly. “Curtains behind the screen. You can see everything. She won’t notice.”

Saphira rose, palms brushing over her leggings, grounding her pulse before the thrum of nerves could rise again. This wasn’t just about her past–it was about what her instincts had learned from it. She/met Nikolas’s eyes, a quiet resolve blooming behind hers.

“Perfect,” she said, her tone firm. “I’ll get into position.”

The hallway leading to the movie room was quiet, dimly lit by the soft–glow of amber sconces that flickered just enough to cast moving shadows along the walls. Saphira followed beside Nikolas, her boots barely making a sound over the floor’s worn timber. Her pulse drummed a quiet rhythm in her ears– anticipation more than nerves.

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CHAPTER 102

Nikolas paused just outside the doorway, glancing in. “You two,” he said to a pair of lounging pack members, “give is the room. Pack business.”

They rose without question, their expressions shuttered as they passed Saphira and Nikolas without a word. As the door clicked shut behind them, the space inside seemed to contract, the silence stretching taut.

Zafira moved with quiet purpose, settling into one of the low seats near the front row. She leaned back casually, though her fingers toyed absently with the silver chain at her wrist–an old habit Saphira recognized as focus, not nerves.

Saphira crossed to the corner, slipping behind the thick velvet curtain with the familiarity of someone who knew how sound and sight worked in these spaces. She crouched low, nestling into a shadowed fold just behind the screen where the light fractured faintly across the fabric. From here, she could just make out the seat Zafira had chosen and the patch of light where the newcomer would eventually stand.

The curtain stirred softly as Nikolas joined her, one hand brushing gently over her arm. His lips met hers in a brief, quiet kiss–warm, grounding.

He leaned close, breath a whisper against her ear. “Once they’re settled, I’ll slip in beside you from the back. Try to stay quiet, I don’t want to startle you when I sneak back in.”

Saphira nodded, reaching to squeeze his forearm–her thumb trailing over the veins that stood beneath his skin. She tilted up and stole one last kiss, a promise between breaths.

“I’ll be silent,” she murmured.

Nikolas gave a single nod and a cheeky wink before turning and walking back out toward Zafira. His footfalls were measured, but his pace held urgency. “I’ll go get her now. Wait to start the questions–give me time to sneak out around the back and join Saphira.”

Zafira’s eyes met his. A subtle nod passed between them. Saphira, behind the curtain, caught the quiet sync of movement–trust in silence. Nikolas left the

room.

Minutes passed Long enough for Saphira to track the slow rise and fall of her own breath. Zafira leaned slightly forward, then back again, restless but ready. Another nod–this time toward the curtain. Saphira shifted her weight, eyes narrowing.

Then the door opened with a hush.

Nikolas stepped inside, leading a young woman with shoulder–length blonde hair and cautious movements. Saphira tilted her head, brow furrowing. She couldn’t see the woman’s face–just the drift of her hair and the way she moved. Graceful, but guarded.

“I’m Megan,” the woman said as she approached Zafira. Her voice held a familiar lilt–too familiar.

Saphira inhaled quietly, muscles tight. Where have I heard that before?

Zafira kept the conversation light. Just enough to fill time.

A few moments later Nikolas’s footfalls receded behind her, and she felt the shift in air pressure beside her again–he was back. She turned slightly without moving too far, enough to see the shape of him beside her in the curtain’s shadow.

His presence settled her. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t need to. Her body leaned slightly closer, instincts whispering that what she was about to hear mattered more than expected.

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