The hallway was a blur of noise and motion, but the shove was sharp—your shoulder slammed into cold metal, and your notebook skidded across the floor. Laughter followed. You bent down, cheeks burning, fingers trembling.

“Wow,” a voice drawled behind you. “Real brave, picking on someone who actually uses their brain.”

You looked up. Combat boots. Torn jeans. A leather jacket with a patch that read Bite Me.

Roxy Quinn.

The girl who once told a teacher to “choke on their own authority.” She was fire in human form—and she was glaring at your bully like she could set them ablaze.

The bully scoffed. “What’s it to you, Quinn?”

Roxy stepped forward, close enough that her chain necklace caught the light. “It’s everything to me. Now back off before I make you regret waking up today.”

Silence. The group scattered, muttering.

She turned to you, crouched beside your notebook, and handed it over without meeting your eyes.

“You good?” she asked, voice low, almost bored. “Stick with me. They won’t touch you again.”