Page 29 of Freestyle (Boys of Frampton U #2)

Grayson

I t’s initiation night and in the darkness the campus hums with secrets.

The air is heavy with excitement, and I can’t help but feel my own pulse pick up as we make our way through the maze of trees lining the quad.

A low hum of voices carries through the darkness, growing louder as we approach the heart of campus.

“Make sure she gets it ASAP,” I snap at a freshman as Nix slips a black envelope into his hand.

He nods once, eyes fixed. “Y-yes, sir,” he sputters. The letter is handwritten. Gold wax seal. No insignia.

She’ll know it’s from us .

“Think she’ll come?” I ask Nix, even though I already know the answer.

“She’s ours,” he murmurs. “I think we’ve proven that.”

That hits somewhere between fact and prayer.

We don’t bring outsiders into initiation.

Ever . Except when Remy made sure Fallon was there last year, but Rowyn isn’t an outsider, she’s the storm we watched form, the girl we tried to cage until we realized she was never prey at all.

She’s rage wrapped in silk. Wounded and weaponized.

And tonight, we offer her something no one else can.

A place to be free.

Initiation Night Rules

Every Freshman swimmer is tasked with obtaining a personal piece of clothing from one of the players.

The challenge intensifies with masks, as some may be easily startled.

They have one hour to locate their chosen target, selected at random, and charm them into willingly parting with their item.

Any use of force results in immediate disqualification and a ban from the team, as per my rules.

The point of initiation night is to prove their determination and ruthlessness, which is needed in and out of the water.

In the woods past East Hall, the bonfires have already been lit. This year’s pledges are being given their illuminated masks, paraded, broken down and built back up again, just like they do every year. This night is a tradition. Legacy. Power.

Ah, initiation night—the clandestine rite of passage where the veil of secrecy is lifted, revealing the hidden truths. It’s a plunge into the unknown, a baptism by fire.

But none of that matters to me like it should. This should be the time for the senior Sharks to shine, but not this year.

Because this year, our focus is singular.

“Alright, gather around you shit heads. Tonight is a make it or break it situation. You either keep your spot on the team, or you’re kicked the hell out.

No crying to your daddies. Nothing can save you if you don’t complete the task.

This is how initiation works. Anyone want to back out now, be my fucking guest,” I bellow into the darkness.

The team looks around at each other, seeing if someone will walk off the team right now, but no one leaves. Good.

“Masks on, boys,” Phoenix yells as I pull my green mask over my face.

The mask settles into place, snug over my skin, turning the world into green-tinted shadows. Around me the others follow suit, each color a different tier of hierarchy, a different sin worn on the outside. But tonight? Tonight, even hierarchy bends to obsession .

Nix steps to my side, face obscured by his green mask that marks us as this year’s captains. The silence between us isn’t empty, it’s loaded. With tension. With something messier.

“She opens that letter,” I murmur, “and it begins.”

He doesn’t answer, just stares toward the winding trail that leads back to campus. Like he’s already watching her walk down it.

We planned every word in that letter. Crafted it like scripture. It doesn’t beg. It doesn’t demand. It invites her into our world, into our war, into our possession.

And if she accepts?

She won’t walk through those woods alone.

Because the second Rowyn steps into this fire-lit clearing, the game changes.

She’s not an outsider.

She’s the offering.

The blood price.

And this time, no one touches her unless we say so. And we don’t.

The participants are gathered in clusters around the old library as we approach. My skin tingles with anticipation and I can feel her presence before I see her.

Rowyn .

“Participants,” I say again, voice warped behind the mask, “you’ve been given your numbers for the games. You know the rules.”

A hush spreads, but it’s not silence, it’s the sound of hearts pounding in sync with the drums echoing from the woods.

“You run. We seek. If you’re caught and you don’t give willingly, you’re out. No second chances. No excuses. Consent isn’t a courtesy tonight. It’s currency. Yours to trade, or to hold.”

I step forward into the circle of firelight. Faces flicker, shadows dancing across painted wood and wide eyes.

“But listen carefully, this isn’t just about proving yourself. Tonight, the forest watches. The old rules breathe through the trees, and they don’t like cowards. If you’re scared now? Good. You should be. Fear sharpens the mind. It makes you worthy.”

The air hums, hot and brittle.

“In one hour, the game ends. Until then, you are prey with teeth. So run smart. Run fast. And whatever you do…” I lower my voice until it scrapes against the night, “don’t look back. The forest loves to keep those who do.”

She doesn’t blink.

The fire dances in her eyes but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t twitch, not even when I lean into the final threat like it’s a promise meant for her. The others shift and whisper, hearts thundering against their ribs. But Rowyn? She just stands there, unmoved.

I know her tells by now. The subtle ones, the dangerous ones. The way her fists curl, slow and quiet, like she’s reminding herself not to draw blood yet . The way her head tilts, chin high, like the night has already sworn its allegiance to her. She’s not masking fear. She’s weaponizing calm.

And that mouth barely, barely twitches. Like the idea of not looking back amuses her, like she’s already rewritten the rules in ink only she can see.

Every other girl out here looks like prey, fragile and scared, waiting to be chased.

Rowyn looks like the first one who came to hunt the seekers.

The second that whistle blows, I won’t follow.

I’ll wait.

Because she’ll come to me. They always do.

But not like her.

Never like her.

“Let the hunt begin.”