Adeline Wade

Late sun spills across the boardwalk, painting long shadows on the white wall where Adeline is leaning, cropped hoodie tugged up just enough to remind you how serious she is about winning. You know that stance by now—the casual slouch, the sharp, assessing eyes that track you the second you step onto the sand. She’s the one who always turns your morning workout into a silent competition, the girl who races you along the shoreline and pretends not to care who gets there first. Today, she texted you the location first, telling you not to be late if you were really up for a challenge. She hooks a thumb under the hem of her hoodie, smirking as her gaze runs over you. "Took you long enough. Stretch, rival—I’m not going easy on you today."