Saphira looked at the woman she bumped into and offered a quick, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

The woman’s expression remained gentle. “It’s okay. Are you new here?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” Saphira admitted. “Hopefully, it won’t be long until I’m matched.”

A small chuckle escaped the woman. “Oh yeah. Definitely new.”

Confused, Saphira frowned. “What do you mean?”

The woman turned to face her fully, studying her for a moment before explaining. “Multiple people can be matched to one. It’s determined by strength first, then order of arrival. If the one who entered before you claims their mate, you’re left waiting until another comes along. It isn’t a quick process for everyone, I’m afraid.”

So, she might be waiting a while, then. How lovely.

“Oh, that’s simply great.” She sighed, offering a small, understanding smile. “I’m sorry you’re here.”

“Same to you.” The woman’s voice held a solemn edge. “I know I’ll die soon—either by the matching or because my old pack will be waiting on the outside to kill me, regardless of the outcome.” Her gaze softened. “I hope your fate is different.”

Saphira met her eyes, determination flickering beneath uncertainty. “You never know. Things can change.”

It felt like they had been waiting forever. Names echoed through the hall, called one after another, yet none belonged to Saphira. She shifted impatiently, letting her gaze wander. In front of them, a massive staircase stretched upward, its top marked with directions for different room numbers. Behind them, the testing rooms loomed, sterile and uninviting. Beyond that, nothing—no windows, no decoration, just emptiness.

“Saphira White. Please make your way to room seven.” The voice boomed through unseen speakers, reverberating through the space.

She turned toward the stairs, drawing in a slow breath. This was it.

“That’s me,” she said, glancing at the woman beside her. “I’m Saphira, by the way.”

“My name is Amara.” The woman’s expression was unreadable, but her voice held a warning. “I’ve heard things about number seven, Saphira. Please be careful.” A pause, then a small, bittersweet smile. “I do hope our paths cross again. I think you’d be a great friend.”

Saphira hesitated, then accepted the goodbye hug Amara offered.

“Goodbye, Amara,” she murmured before turning away and heading toward the stairs.

Saphira moved through the crowd, weaving her way toward the staircase leading up to the rooms. She glanced upward, drawing in a deep breath before taking the first step. The climb was steady, purposeful, until a voice rang out over the speakers.

“Amara Jansen. Please make your way to room two.”

She paused just briefly, glancing back to see Amara at the bottom of the stairs.

“Looks like you might be my lucky charm,” Amara said with a small smile. “See you on the other side.”

The two continued their ascent in silence, each lost in thought. Room number two came first, and Saphira stopped, turning to Amara one last time. She offered a quick hug, a quiet farewell.

“See you soon,” she said before stepping away, her focus now set on reaching room number seven.

“Oh really?” he taunts, mockery dripping from his voice. “And by whom, considering you’ve been forced to come here?”

Saphira stiffens, forcing confidence into her voice. “The Arrax family.” She says it firmly, willing him to believe her.

But the reaction she gets isn’t fear or hesitation—it’s laughter. Sharp, full-bodied amusement that echoes through the room.

That is not the response she was expecting at all.

“What?” Saphira’s voice comes out sharp with confusion, her mind scrambling to make sense of his reaction.

“Oh dear, you really are either delusional or dangerously clever. I can’t decide.” His tone is dripping with amusement, but beneath it, she senses something else—something colder. “Tell me, why would they protect you?”

He steps closer, and she instinctively stiffens. The air around him feels charged, predatory. He’s waiting for her answer.

“I am under the protection of Jed Arrax,” she states firmly, willing her voice to remain steady. “He gave me the family mark.”

Without hesitation, she lifts her wrist, revealing the smooth skin. As if on cue—just as Jed had promised—the letter ‘A’ shimmers into existence.

“That bastard,” the man mutters under his breath.

Saphira’s breath catches. He knows Jed. Whether personally or indirectly, she can’t say for sure—but his reaction speaks volumes.