"Nothing!" Iván nearly bit his tongue in frustration as he stared at his phone. There was nothing useful about the moon pendant—just a few old images of ancient rulers wearing it.
With a sigh, he slipped the phone back into his pocket… just as the Jeep pulled up in front of a gym.
"A gym?" Iván muttered, glancing around.
Rowan crossed one leg over the other in the passenger seat, snapping his fingers with a smug grin. "Yup. If you and Scott are gonna be any help out there, you need to learn the basics of fighting. And let's be honest—Derek's a great brooding mentor, but not the best teacher."
He hopped out and added, "My dad taught me swordplay and close combat. So guess what? You're both learning boxing. Then tonight, we scout the school grounds for the best place to set a trap. Sounds good?"
Iván and Scott exchanged glances, then nodded in agreement.
They stepped inside. The gym was massive, filled with people lifting, sparring, and training. Iván's eyes darted around, a mix of curiosity and anticipation building. There were a surprising number of women in the gym too, but Iván was more focused on one thing.
Iván cracked his knuckles and smirked.
Time to see just how strong I've gotten.
He was just about to lift some weights when someone stepped in front of him.
"Hey, do you have a membership?" A young, muscular guy asked, glaring at him like he was about to throw him out.
"Uh…" Iván rubbed the back of his neck. "Shoot. Forgot you need one of those."
"Don't worry," Rowan said, suddenly appearing beside him. "He's with me." He shot the guy a wink.
"Oh! Rowan! Man, how've you been?" The guy immediately perked up, falling into casual conversation with Rowan like they were old gym bros.
Iván, meanwhile, tuned them out. He glanced down at the weights, grabbed the heaviest dumbbell he could find, and lifted it like it was nothing.
Oh, shit.
A slow grin spread across his face. He hadn't realized just how strong he'd gotten.
He paused, feeling eyes on him. A few girls nearby were openly staring—some biting their lips, some whispering to each other—and he felt a chill crawl up his back.
Do they wanna eat me or date me?
He tried to play it cool but almost blushed.
And then it hit him.
I don't even have a girlfriend.
Sure, he could probably ask out half the girls at school with ease now, but that wasn't his style. Iván didn't mess with people's feelings like that.
He dropped the dumbbells with a thud, then heard Stiles calling from across the gym.
"Yo, Iván! Get over here—we're about to throw hands!"
He looked over and saw Stiles and Scott in the boxing ring. Scott was already strapping on gloves.
Iván raised an eyebrow, walking over slowly.
Somehow… I've got a bad feeling this isn't going to end well.
Scott bounced on the balls of his feet, fists up in a proper boxing stance. Stiles mirrored him—more or less—but his form was looser, a little too confident.
Then it happened. One punch. That's all it took.
Scott's fist connected square with Stiles' chest, and the poor guy went flying backward into the ropes before collapsing hard onto the mat.
"Stiles!" Scott shouted, immediately dropping to his knees and shaking his friend.
Iván stood on the sidelines, arms crossed.
And that… he thought grimly, is exactly what I was afraid would happen.
Rowan strolled up to the ring, arms crossed with a smirk. "Good—you guys are already throwing hands. I didn't expect Stiles to be the first in the ring though. Silly guy."
He clapped once. "Alright, Iván—you're up."
"Sure thing," Iván said, climbing into the ring. He helped Stiles to his feet, who was still trying to catch his breath.
Once Stiles was safely out of the way, Iván slipped on the gloves, rolled his neck, and met Scott's eyes from across the ring. The two boys nodded at each other, stepping into orthodox stances—guard up, feet light.
All eyes were suddenly on them, especially from a group of girls watching nearby. But neither Scott nor Iván paid them any attention.
"Begin!" Rowan shouted from the side.
They started circling, bouncing on their toes, each waiting for the other to make the first move. A curious older man across the gym paused his own workout to watch.
Scott struck first. A quick jab—fast, but to Iván, it felt like slow motion. He raised his guard and blocked it, feeling the shock ripple through his arms. His muscles flared in pain, but the sensation vanished just as quickly, already healing.
Iván countered immediately with a right hook. Scott got his arm up to block, but the force behind Iván's punch sent him sliding back a few feet on the mat.
Scott's heartbeat spiked. He closed his eyes briefly, grounding himself—thinking about someone… or something. Whatever it was, it steadied him.
And then, he came right back in.
Scott launched a quick two-hit combo at Iván—one jab grazed his shoulder, but the second connected clean with his cheek. Iván flinched, glaring as his instincts suddenly kicked in. Something clicked—like muscle memory buried deep.
His eyes sharpened.
Without thinking, he responded with a flurry of rapid jabs, precise and controlled. Scott tried to guard, but as his arms dipped for just a second, Iván saw the opening.
He stepped in fast and threw an uppercut straight to Scott's chin.
The impact lifted Scott off his feet—just barely—and sent him crashing to the mat. Iván had held back… but not enough.
Scott was out cold.
Iván's heart skipped. He hadn't meant to hit that hard.
"Shit," he muttered, realizing just how dangerous his strength could be.
A slow clap echoed through the gym.
As Scott began to regain consciousness, an older man, probably in his late 40s, stepped forward with a grin.
"Damn… that was a solid combo," he said, approaching them. "Hey, Rowan are these guys your friends?"
Rowan took a deep breath before answering. "Yeah… they are."
The man nodded, then gestured toward Iván. "Mind if I have a word with the one with the silver eyes?"
Rowan shrugged. "I don't mind. But if you ask me… it looks like he already knows how to fight."
The man gave an approving nod, eyes never leaving Iván. "Yes… he does."