Pitch Perfect: Until He Shifted

"Great."

It was the only word that came out of Isaac's mouth when he saw me—his loyal, overworked, underpaid reporter—standing behind bars.

I pouted at him, my fingers loosely holding onto the cold metal bars. As always, my brown, shoulder-length hair was tied up in a messy ponytail. My round eyes stared straight into his.

"Are you out of your mind, Ophie?" he snapped.

I didn't flinch. I didn't cry either. My face was calm and showed no sign of regret. I've always been tough like that, and Isaac knew it.

"I told you to cover the news, not become it."

I gripped the bars tightly. "Isaac, that rising actor was drunk. He was about to drive! I stopped him before he killed someone. Then, when his girlfriend defended me, that idiot hit her!"

Isaac narrowed his eyes. "But that doesn't give you the right to punch him."

"I did what was right!" My voice was firm.

"No," he said irritably. "You made it personal."

"Women defend women!"

Isaac looked like he was about to lose it. He stared at me as if I were a bomb about to explode. Honestly? Probably I was.

"Just let me breathe for a sec," Isaac said.

I know; I blew up a big scheme.

Apparently, the actor pressed charges against me for assault and "causing a scene." What was supposed to be a ten-minute interview turned into an all-night police report.

And this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Drama tends to follow me like a shadow.

But of course, I'm me: Ophelia Perkins.

I'm 25 and a reporter for the Big Flat Daily. Maybe I'm a little too dedicated—or perhaps I'm the most problematic one they've ever had.

But I have my reasons. I live for the truth. I'm driven by high ideals and stubbornness, and I'm slightly impulsive. Even if it leads me straight into chaos.

News is my prey, and I'm the hunter!

I've worked under Isaac Steele for the past four years, and I'd like to think we understand each other. I piss him off. He saves my *ss. Rinse and repeat.

Isaac has been more than just a boss to me; he's been like a guardian with a troubled daughter.

But I know he's furious right now.

"I'm not getting you out of here unless you show some remorse," he warned.

I shrugged. "I'll survive. The toilet paper here isn't bad."

"Ophie, please!"

"Your call, Isaac. But I don't mind doing public service. What I did was right, and eventually people will see that. Just wait until the public turns on that jerk. They'll come for him, not me!"

He let out a deep sigh. "You don't get it. I might lose you as a reporter. Hell, I might lose the entire paper because of your actions."

"No way."

"Yes, way," he snapped. "This isn't just any actor. He's from LA with a global fanbase. One word from him, and people will tear you apart online. Do you really think you can go up against him?"

"I have a witness: his girlfriend."

"Do you think she'll keep defending you? Maybe she'll change her mind. Perhaps she'll take his side."

That hit hard.

My fingers loosened their grip on the bar. Part of me wanted to scream out for justice. But the smarter part of me knew Isaac was right.

"What should I do, Isaac?" I asked softly.

He handed me a piece of paper. "Sign it. Do that, and this whole d*mn thing will go away quietly."

So I signed it.

Against every stubborn instinct in my body, I swallowed the injustice like bitter pills.

What did I get in return? Three months of public service. An apology I didn't mean. It was swept quietly under the rug.

Unfair? Absolutely. But that's how the world works.

When we finally left the police station, I didn't say a word. My sour, p*ss*d-off mood was written all over my face. I followed Isaac silently to his car and slid into the passenger seat with a deep breath.

"You wanna go home?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Back to the office. I've got an article to finish. You know that city official scandal? I think I've found something."

Isaac squinted at me. "No, that story's off your plate. You've caused enough trouble. This is the last straw."

"Oh, come on, Isaac!"

"Don't 'oh, come on' me. I've got another assignment for you."

I didn't bother fighting back. Not this time.

I was too tired and numb. I just sat there, staring out the window while the city lights blurred past. It was almost midnight, and the car rolled down the empty city streets. The only sound was the hum of the engine beneath us.

I should have gone home. But lately, sleep hadn't been kind to me. The nightmares were back.

I hadn't had them in years, but now they came almost every night: There were war, blood, shifting shadows, and men with claws and glowing eyes.

Wolves.

It felt real. I knew something was wrong.

I told myself it was just stress. It was the fallout from chasing too many stories that led to cops and lawsuits. Or maybe it was just Isaac, always hovering and managing every part of my life.

Even though I was mad at him half the time, I still owed him everything.

After the accident that killed my parents, I covered it all up. I was eighteen, and I shut down my grief and sense of loss with ambition. I barely made it through college with the bit of insurance money that was left. I only made it through with scholarships and pure stubbornness.

Then Isaac came along. He gave me a shot.

Isaac offered me a job when I had nothing to offer. I had no connections. No support. I had just raw ambition and a sharp tongue. He's been saving me ever since.

He's pulled me out of trouble countless times, even when we fight—and trust me, we fight. He's always been there for me.

I respect him. Deep down, I care about him. But love? No, nothing romantic.

Isaac insanely attractive, though. Tall with dark brown hair that's always perfectly in place. He has steel-gray eyes that could slice through walls, and he has a presence that could silence a whole newsroom. Women fall for him all the time.

But not me.

I chose my career. Love was never part of the deal.

"Oh God..." I groaned and stretched my arms as the car pulled into the basement of the office building. My muscles ached, and my brain felt like it was melting from everything that had happened in the last 24 hours.

We walked into the building without saying much. The night guard greeted us with a curious look.

"You're out already, Miss Ophelia?" he asked.

"Safe and sound," I said with a tight smile.

"Good to hear that."

So we went straight to the office, which at night was dark and quiet. Most people would find that creepy. I liked it. Isaac led the way into his office, turned on his computer, and slid a folder across the desk toward me.

"What's this?" Bribery scandal? Corruption? Affair?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, as I opened the folder.

"Baseball player."

"Baseball?"

Seriously? What was I supposed to do with a story about a baseball player? Watch him swing a bat and smile for the camera? Lame.

"You've gotta be kidding me." I pushed the folder back at him. "I'm not doing this."

"I need you to investigate him."

"Investigate what, Isaac? What could be interesting about a baseball player?"

"He and his team will be practicing at Sky Diamond tomorrow at 8 a.m. Go."

"Who is he?"

"Lucas Newman."

I flipped through the file.

Lucas Newman. Twenty years old. He had just joined the city's elite baseball club, the Silverfangs. A total rookie—and a total phenomenon.

He came out of nowhere. He just showed up, passed the tryouts, and made the team.

No background. No records. He just appeared with a bat and a glove.

"Weird," I muttered.

The next morning, I dragged myself to Sky Diamond. I sat in the bleachers, sipped my lukewarm coffee, and watched the players warm up.

Then I saw him: Lucas Newman.

As soon as he stepped onto the field, I felt something. I don't know how to explain it, but there was something about him. Intense power. Raw. Magnetic.

Lucas had wavy brown hair that brushed his neck and broad shoulders. He was lean but powerful. He looked like he belonged in a movie, not on a baseball field.

I couldn't look away. My eyes locked on him, and then his eyes found me.

He stared. I stared back. The world fell silent.

And then... I smelled it: Pine. Citrus. There was a hint of something spicy, like cloves or cinnamon. The scent hit me like a drug—it was intoxicating.

What the hell?

I tried to shake it off. He's just a kid. A rookie. Nothing special.

"Don't be stupid, Ophie," I muttered under my breath.

Then, one of his teammates threw him a ball.