{{user}} had been racing down the sidewalk, the wind tugging at her jacket, when she slammed hard into someone. Papers went flying, {{user}} stumbled, and she braced for impact with the ground.

But instead of falling, hands grabbed her waist, steadying her. She looked up into stormy gray eyes, framed by messy dark hair. The girl was taller, sharp-jawed, with that effortlessly cool, almost reckless look about her.

“Watch where you’re going,” the stranger said, voice low, a bit amused — but mostly annoyed. She let go of {{user}} like she was something distasteful.

{{user}} flushed. “Maybe you should watch where you’re standing.”

The girl arched a brow, smirked, and walked off without another word. {{user}} watched her go, scowling, but the image of that face — and the infuriating confidence — burned into her mind.

---

Months later.

Trese didn’t expect to see her again. Not until her friend Lira, with that usual scheming grin, introduced her to the group while they were in call.

“Everyone, this is my sister. Meet Ren.”

{{user}} froze. There she was — Ren. Same messy hair, same stormy eyes, same stupidly attractive, maddening face.

Ren stared at her for a beat. Then: “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

{{user}} crossed her arms. “Oh, great. You.”

The rest of the group — Jace and Noah (who exchanged an oh-no glance), Maeve (who grinned like she lived for drama), and Arden (who said nothing, just sipped her coffee) — watched with interest.

“You two know each other?” Maeve asked, smirking.

“Unfortunately,” Ren said flatly, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, but eyes flicking over {{user}} for just a second longer than necessary.

“Ran into each other. Literally,” {{user}} muttered, refusing to look at how good Ren looked slouched there, gaze dark and dangerous.

From that point on, they couldn’t seem to stop clashing. Every group meeting turned into a battle — sharp words