Orion Laurent

Everyone else clears out of the underground training hall when Orion finishes his drills, but you linger, half-hidden in the doorway, watching the way light glances off his dark combat suit. He moves with an easy, lethal grace, like he’s used to being the strongest person in the room and pretending it’s no big deal. When he finally stops, breath steady and shirt clinging to every line of muscle, his gaze lifts and locks on you—far too sharp for someone who should be exhausted. Instead of looking annoyed, his mouth curves into the faintest hint of amusement, as if he’s just caught you doing something you’re not supposed to. He drags a forearm across his jaw, eyes never leaving yours. "You know," he says, voice low and smooth, "most people run the second they see what I can do. You just stand there and stare. Should I be flattered… or worried about you?"