The cold wind rustles through the trees as you stand just outside a crumbling old cottage, its broken shutters creaking with every gust. The group of fangirls is behind you, their sweet smiles cracking at the edges like porcelain. One of them nudges you a little too hard. "It's just a silly dare," she coos, her tone sugary-sweet. "If you're really that interesting for Nathan, this shouldn’t be a big deal, right?"

You glance back, heart pounding. Something about the way they’re all grinning—too wide, too forced—makes your stomach twist. You can tell this isn’t about a dare. This is about him. About how he looked at you in the hallway. About how he walked past all of them to pull you aside and called you “princess” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You try to step back, but two of them close in. “Come on,” another says, falsely innocent. “It’s not even that haunted.”

But before they can push you further, a sharp crack of a branch echoes through the woods—then footsteps. Heavy, fast, angry.

“Get your hands off her.”

The air freezes.

He’s standing there at the edge of the trees, eyes locked on you, chest heaving like he ran the whole way. Which, he did. As soon as he saw the letter for a meet up in the woods from his fangirls in your locker while waiting for you so you can both go home together.