The rise of the unorthodox

A few days had passed, and things were changing—rapidly. I'd been training with Wyatt a lot more lately. It might seem rushed to some, maybe even reckless, but there was no denying the impact he had on me. He wasn't just teaching me how to fight; he was showing me how to think differently, how to believe in my own strength. For the first time in a while, I felt like I was growing—not just stronger, but sharper, more capable.

But not everything was perfect.

Devin had been acting…off. Distant. Like he was deliberately keeping space between us. He avoided eye contact, cut conversations short, and even started skipping our usual hangouts. At first, I told myself it was nothing—that maybe he was just stressed, or distracted. But as days turned into a week, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. And a tiny, gnawing voice in my head kept whispering, What if it's your fault?

I replayed our recent interactions, searching for clues, but the answer eluded me. The only thing that stood out was his attitude toward Wyatt. Devin always seemed tense around him, like he was sizing him up or waiting for him to make a mistake. But Wyatt wasn't a bad guy—far from it. He was patient, skilled, and oddly protective. Sure, he had a charm about him, but I wasn't the type to fall for that. So why did Devin seem to see him as a threat?

Unable to shake my unease, I decided to clear my head with a walk through the fields. It was my favorite thing to do when life felt heavy—just me, the open sky, and the rustling grass. No judgment, no expectations. Just peace.

The moment I stepped onto the field, I felt some of the tension in my chest ease. The scent of damp earth and fresh grass filled the air, and the sun hung low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything. I closed my eyes, letting the breeze kiss my skin, and took a deep breath. For a moment, I let myself forget about Devin, about Wyatt, about everything.

But peace never stayed with me for long.

As I wandered deeper into the field, a strange noise broke through the stillness. It was sharp, rhythmic—like someone pounding on something, hard. My curiosity got the better of me, and I followed the sound, my heart quickening with each step.

When I found the source, I froze.

It was Devin. He was alone, furiously punching a training dummy. His movements were sharp, precise, and unrelenting, each strike landing with a force that made the dummy shudder. Sweat dripped down his face, and his jaw was clenched tight, like he was fighting more than just the dummy.

The sight stunned me. Devin and I always trained together. He was the one who taught me my first stance, who laughed with me when I stumbled, who stayed late to help me perfect a move. We were a team—or at least, we had been. So why was he here now, alone?

I hesitated for a moment, then forced myself to move. I wasn't going to stand by and let this go unaddressed. Devin wasn't just my training partner; he was my friend, and friends didn't shut each other out.

"Devin," I called out as I approached.

He stopped mid-punch, his breathing heavy. Slowly, he turned to face me. His expression was blank, almost cold—a look I wasn't used to seeing from him. He removed his gauntlets and wiped his face with a napkin, then looked at me expectantly.

"How may I help you?" he asked, his tone flat.

I frowned. "You're training without me. That's not how this works, Devin. We're supposed to do this together." I tried to keep my voice light, even playful, and gave him a gentle nudge on the arm.

He didn't smile. Instead, he gave me a look—a piercing, accusatory glare that sent a chill down my spine. It was the kind of look he reserved for people he didn't trust, people he didn't like.

"So it's fine for you to train with Wyatt," he said, his voice low and sharp, "but I can't train on my own?"

The accusation hit me like a punch to the gut.

"Devin, that's not—"

He didn't let me finish. He turned away, picking up his gauntlets and strapping them back on. "I'm going to keep training now," he said quietly, his back to me. "You should leave."

And just like that, I was dismissed.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, as his words echoed in my mind. He wasn't just angry—he was hurt. And the worst part was, I knew he was right. I had been spending all my time with Wyatt, barely even noticing how it affected Devin.

I walked away slowly, my chest heavy with guilt and confusion. Devin had always been my anchor, the person I turned to when things got tough. But now, when I needed him most, he was shutting me out.

After a few minutes of wandering aimlessly, I pulled out my phone. There was only one person I could think to call.

"Hey, Bea!" my brother's voice greeted me, warm and familiar. "What's up?"

"Oh, you know," I said, trying to sound casual. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

He laughed softly. "Okay, spill it. What's wrong? You don't call just to chat."

I sighed. He knew me too well. I told him everything—the tension with Devin, my training with Wyatt, and the confrontation in the field.

When I finished, there was a long pause. Then my brother spoke, his voice firm. "Bea, you need to apologize to Devin. You were being a hypocrite. He hasn't done anything wrong, and honestly? I don't love the idea of you spending so much time with Wyatt. He's older, and I don't trust him."

I frowned. "Wyatt's not like that," I said defensively. "He's just helping me train."

"Maybe," my brother said, "but Devin's your friend. Don't take him for granted."

His words hit harder than I wanted to admit. Devin had been there for me through everything, and I'd let my excitement over Wyatt blind me to how it affected him.

"Okay," I said finally. "I'll apologize."

"Good," my brother said. "And Bea? Be careful. You've got a good heart, but not everyone deserves it."

We talked a little longer before hanging up. As the silence settled around me, I felt a wave of resolve.

Devin deserved better. I wasn't going to stop training with Wyatt, but I needed to make things right with Devin. Our friendship was too important to lose over something like this.

With a deep breath, I turned back toward the field. It was time to fix this.