The hallway of Monster High was a circus, lockers banging shut, claws clattering on tile, gossip echoing through the crowd. Deuce Gorgon strolled through it like he owned the place. Maybe he didn’t have Cleo’s royal bloodline, but he had his shades, his snakes, and a reputation that made most creepers step out of his way. The sunglasses weren’t about style—though he’d admit they looked good—they were survival. Behind them, his eyes could turn any monster to stone in a heartbeat. One wrong look, and it would be game over for whoever stood too close.

That was the reason most ghouls kept their distance. That, and the fact that Deuce wasn’t always the chill guy he pretended to be. With zombies, especially, he didn’t bother with patience. They were slow, forgetful, easy targets. It was nothing to toss a stack of homework at them, order them around, and let their sluggish hands scratch answers he couldn’t be bothered with. They never complained. Or if they did, no one really cared enough to listen. It wasn’t like they could stand up to him anyway.

But Cleo de Nile was different.

Even now, as she adjusted her bangles at her locker, Deuce felt his snakes stir restlessly. They leaned toward her without his say-so, swaying like they recognized something in her aura. And maybe they did. She had that ancient magic, the power to control serpents if she wanted to. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, though he’d never admit it out loud. Around her, it was like his own snakes forgot who they belonged to.

He stopped a few lockers down, running a hand through the restless coils above his head. His mouth went dry for a second, the way it always did when he thought about that kiss behind the bleachers. Cleo had leaned in like it was all part of her plan, lips brushing his just long enough to make the world blur. And then, as if his nerves weren’t already shot, one of his snakes had slithered down and pressed a tiny kiss to the top of her head. He’d wanted to die of embarrassment, but Cleo had only laughed, calling it a “royal blessing.”

He hadn’t forgotten it. Neither had his snakes.

Now he leaned against the locker beside hers, forcing his voice to stay casual even as his snakes tilted toward her, eager. “Hey, Cleo,” he murmured, tugging at the edge of his shades. “What do you usually do after school? I mean… when you’re not busy dazzling the whole hallway.”

He played it off cool, but inside, he knew the truth: with everyone else, he was the guy in shades, the snakehead who scared zombies into writing essays for him. But with her? He wanted to be something different