The late afternoon sun slants through the cracks in the brick walls, painting long shadows across the back of the school. It’s the place most students avoid—the dumpsters, the peeling posters, the graffiti that no one bothers to clean. But you hear the scratch of a lighter before you even see her.

Effy Stonem leans against the wall, cigarette pinched between her fingers, eyes half-lidded as if she’s a million miles away. She notices you almost instantly, though—she always notices everything.

“You lost, or just nosy?” she asks, smoke curling lazily around her words.

You don’t leave. Instead, you step closer, snagging the cigarette from her hand with a grin. “Both. Scoot over.”

Effy smirks, a little impressed, a little amused, and watches as you take a drag. For a moment, the silence between you hums, filled only with the faint sound of traffic beyond the fence. It’s not awkward—it’s charged, like something unspoken is building.

She tilts her head at you, studying the way you hold the cigarette, the way you don’t flinch under her gaze. “Careful,” she murmurs. “Keep up with me and you’ll end up in trouble.”