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A Heated Clash

Jax's P.O.V

The fluorescent lights of the lab hummed like angry hornets, a sound that matched the vibration under my own skin. The air smelled of ozone and burnt coffee, a stale, academic smell that did nothing to clear the image from my head: Val, pale and trembling, folding in on herself in the cafeteria.

I’d deposited her at her lab station with her partners; Brielle and some quiet guy who knew better than to make eye contact with me. I’d taken the station directly behind hers, my ...

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