The word hung in the air.

The entire shooting bay went dead silent. Blair's mouth fell open in shock.

Gregory violently rubbed his ear. "Did you lose your hearing, Castillo? You just agreed to be a piece of meat."

Adrian ignored him. He pushed off the counter and walked slowly toward Juliette.

He stopped inches from her. He looked down, trapping her gaze with his dark, intense stare.

He slipped both hands into his pockets. "If we're playing," Adrian said lazily, "one dinner is an insult."

Blair practically vibrated with excitement. She took a step forward. "What do you want to add, Adrian?"

Adrian didn't even glance at Blair. His eyes remained locked on Juliette's face.

"The winner," Adrian stated clearly, "gets me for three consecutive weekends. Full days."

A collective gasp ripped through the crowd of girls. Blair's face flushed a deep, victorious red.

Juliette stared up at Adrian like he had grown a second head. Her eyebrows pulled together in deep confusion. Why was he selling himself out?

She opened her mouth to reject the ridiculous terms.

Then, her brain did the math. Three weekends. Full days. That was seventy-two hours.

Seventy-two hours of uninterrupted access to the greatest mind in the physics department to discuss the CRISPR data.

Juliette's eyes widened. A spark of pure, manic excitement ignited in her chest. The hesitation vanished completely.

Adrian watched the exact moment the realization hit her. The corner of his mouth curved into a dark, satisfied smirk. The trap was set.

Blair saw Juliette's flushed face and scoffed. She thought Juliette was just another desperate fangirl.

Blair marched to the shooting stall. She slipped on a pair of custom pink earmuffs and signaled the operator to activate the electronic target.

"Rules are simple," Sierra announced loudly. "Ten shots. Highest total score wins. Loser gets out."

Juliette stood frozen behind the line. She stared at the black air pistol resting on the table.

Her fingers curled inward. Her palms were sweating. The suffocating weight of her past pressed down on her chest.

Adrian noticed the slight tremor in her hands.

He stepped forward, smoothly positioning his large frame between Juliette and the staring crowd. He created a physical wall, giving her a moment to breathe.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "If you're scared, I can shut this down right now," he whispered.

Juliette's head snapped up. She bit her bottom lip hard, tasting copper. "No. I need that fertilizer. And I need those three days."

Blair looked over her shoulder and wiggled her fingers mockingly at Juliette. "Watch and learn, dirt-girl."

Blair raised her gun. She took a deep breath, settling into a rigid, textbook stance. Her eyes narrowed.

Bang.

The electronic screen above the lane flashed. 9.8.

The crowd clapped loudly.

Blair blew a nonexistent wisp of smoke from the barrel and smirked at Juliette.

Juliette stared at the screen. Her professional instincts flared to life, overriding her panic. Her wrist is too stiff, Juliette thought automatically.

Over the next eight shots, Blair fired with mechanical consistency. The screen flashed numbers between 9.5 and 10.2. It was an incredibly high score for an amateur.

The whispers in the crowd grew louder. Everyone agreed Juliette was already dead in the water.

Blair took a long breath for her final shot. She locked her elbow, aimed carefully, and pulled the trigger.

The screen blinked rapidly. 10.5.

The bay erupted. Sierra screamed in triumph. Blair lowered her gun, soaking in the admiration like a queen.

Blair walked over to the table and slammed her gun down. She pointed a manicured finger at Juliette.

"Your turn," Blair commanded. "Go embarrass yourself so you can leave."

Juliette stared at the gun. She took a shaky breath and prepared to step forward.

Right beside her, Adrian let out a heavy, dramatic sigh.

Adrian's low sigh cut through the cheering crowd.

Juliette turned her head. Adrian was looking down at the floor, his brow heavily furrowed in a mask of pure distress.

He leaned down, his shoulder brushing against hers.

"I despise people who bathe in perfume," Adrian whispered, his voice laced with genuine misery.

Juliette blinked. She inhaled instinctively. The cloying, heavy scent of Blair's custom rose perfume burned the back of her throat.

Adrian shifted closer. The heat radiating from his chest seeped through her thin shirt.

"If I have to spend three weekends with her," Adrian murmured, his voice suddenly sounding incredibly fragile, "my sinuses will swell shut. I won't be able to spell a single gene sequence for you."

That sentence hit Juliette's brain like a lightning bolt.

Her experimental data was in danger. Her eyes sharpened instantly, the fear evaporating into pure, protective rage over her research.

Adrian watched the fire ignite in her eyes. He pushed a little harder. "Besides, her stance looked sloppy to me. Pure luck."

Adrian's words cut through the thick fog of her panic. He was right. The sheer incompetence on display was an insult to the sport she once loved. She forced the violent tremors in her hands to still, taking a slow, grounding breath. She channeled the suffocating fear into a cold, analytical rage. Juliette scoffed loudly, her professional arrogance completely taking over. "Her breathing rhythm is entirely wrong. And her wrist micro-twitches right before the break."

A dark gleam flashed in Adrian's eyes. "If you see the flaws, go up there and break her ego."

Juliette's fire dimmed slightly as she looked back at the gun. She rubbed her temples. "I haven't touched a grip in years."

Blair stood ten feet away, hands on her hips. "Are you begging him to save you? Just forfeit and get out!"

Sierra laughed loudly. "If you get on your knees and apologize, maybe we'll just take the guy and let you go."

Juliette's stubborn pride flared violently. Her hands balled into tight fists. She glared at Blair.

"Are you really going to let her take your fertilizer?" Adrian whispered softly, the ultimate bait.

That did it.

Juliette marched toward the shooting stall.

She stood in front of the table. She stared down at the black metal. She took a deep breath and reached out. Her fingers were trembling so badly she could barely keep them straight.

Just as her skin was about to touch the metal, a large, warm hand covered hers completely.

Juliette gasped and spun her head around.

Adrian was standing directly behind her. There was zero space between them. His chest was pressed firmly against her back.

"Since you're a beginner," Adrian's deep voice vibrated against her neck, "let the 'theory master' show you the ropes."

The crowd gasped. Blair's face turned purple. "You can't help her! That's cheating!"

Adrian didn't even look at Blair. His eyes were fixed on Juliette's trembling hand. "I'm only adjusting her grip. I won't touch the trigger. Standard beginner rules."

The range officer, intimidated by Adrian's cold aura, nodded nervously. "Grip correction is allowed."

Blair ground her teeth. "Fine! Hold her hand all you want. A loser is still a loser."

Adrian ignored the noise. He wrapped both of his arms around Juliette's waist, caging her against the table.

Juliette's brain short-circuited.

The panic of the gun vanished, entirely replaced by the overwhelming scent of cedar and the solid wall of muscle pressed against her spine. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.

Adrian lowered his head. His jaw rested lightly against her shoulder.

"Breathe," he commanded softly.

His long fingers slowly pried her stiff, trembling fingers open. He guided her hand down, wrapping it around the textured grip of the pistol.

His thumb intentionally brushed across the sensitive skin of her palm. A jolt of electricity shot straight up Juliette's arm.

To the crowd, it looked like a romantic, clumsy lesson.

To Juliette, it was sensory overload.

"Your shoulder is too tight," Adrian murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

Juliette sucked in a sharp breath. She forced her eyes away from his hands and stared straight down the lane at the paper target.

The noise of the crowd faded. The smell of perfume vanished.

The cold metal in her hand suddenly felt like an extension of her own arm. The fear drained out of her, replaced by a terrifying, icy calm.

Before Juliette could fully settle into the stance, a chaotic blur shoved through the crowd.

Phoebe Chandler, Juliette's roommate, slammed a half-empty iced coffee onto the counter. She was breathing hard, her eyes blazing.

Phoebe stepped directly in front of Juliette, shielding her. She pointed a finger right at Blair's face.

"Picking on an ag-major with your fancy toys?" Phoebe yelled. "You're pathetic!"

Blair rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Oh look, the dirt-girl needs her mommy. If you're so brave, why don't you shoot for her?"

Phoebe, who had grown up on a Texas ranch and spent 80 hours a week playing first-person shooters, puffed out her chest.

She snatched a spare air pistol off the rack. "Gladly."

Juliette's eyes widened in panic. She grabbed Phoebe's sleeve. "Phoebe, wait. That's a competition pistol. The trigger pull is completely different from a video game."

Phoebe waved her off confidently. "Relax, Jules. I'm a sniper in Call of Duty. Ten meters is a joke."

Gregory burst into loud, obnoxious laughter. "You think a video game makes you a shooter? This is gonna be hilarious."

Phoebe glared at Gregory. "Shut up, frat boy."

She stepped up to the line. She threw her body into a ridiculous, exaggerated Hollywood action pose. She squeezed one eye shut, took entirely too long to aim, and yanked the trigger hard.

Because she jerked her finger, the muzzle flipped violently upward.

Bang.

The pellet completely missed the paper target, sailed high, and slammed into the metal protective casing above the electronic screen with a loud, ringing CLANG.

The entire bay erupted into hysterical laughter.

Blair laughed so hard she had to lean on Sierra. "That is the most pathetic thing I have ever seen!"

Phoebe's face turned bright red. She slowly lowered the gun, her bravado completely shattered. She shuffled back to Juliette, staring at her shoes. "The sights are definitely bent," she mumbled.

Blair wiped a tear from her eye. "Alright, playtime is over. Get up there and take your zero, dirt-girl."

Juliette looked at her humiliated best friend.

The last shred of her fear evaporated, incinerated by pure, protective fury.

She gently pushed Phoebe aside. She took three long strides and planted her feet at the shooting line.

Her eyes were dead cold, but her hands still carried a slight, involuntary tremor from the adrenaline spike.

Adrian saw the tremor. He didn't hesitate.

He stepped up behind her again, his massive frame completely enveloping hers. He effectively blocked out the laughing crowd, creating a private, silent bubble for just the two of them.

He reached around her. His large, warm hands covered her cold, shaking ones.

The heat of his palms immediately stopped her trembling.

"Don't be afraid," Adrian whispered, his voice a low, steady anchor in the chaos. "I'm right here."

Juliette's heart skipped a beat. The rigid tension in her spine melted as she leaned back slightly into his solid chest.

Adrian's long fingers slowly adjusted her grip. He moved with deliberate slowness, his callouses dragging against her skin, creating a stark contrast against the cold metal of the gun.

Blair sneered from behind them. "Hugging the gun won't make it shoot straight!"

Adrian ignored her completely. He tilted his head, his nose brushing against Juliette's hair.

"Drop your right shoulder," he instructed softly.

Juliette took a slow, deep breath. She closed her eyes. She let the darkness swallow the noise, the insults, and the pressure.

When her eyes snapped open, the innocent, confused agriculture student was gone.

Her gaze was razor-sharp, filled with the terrifying, absolute focus of an apex predator.

Adrian felt the instantaneous shift in her aura. A thrill of dark excitement shot through his veins.

He slowly loosened his grip on her hands. He took a deliberate half-step back, leaving her standing alone at the line.

The stage was hers.

Juliette raised her right arm, locking her elbow into a perfect, unshakeable line. She stared down the barrel at the center of the target.