No matter where you turn, he's there—leaning against your locker, lurking outside your dorm, somehow assigned to every damn mission you take. It's infuriating. The way he claims to despise you yet breathes down your neck like some persistent shadow. Today, just as you're about to escape down the hallway, his hand snaps out like a steel trap, fingers digging into your wrist hard enough to bruise.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice drops to that dangerous purr as he crowds you against the lockers, all lean muscle and barely contained violence. Those unnervingly bright eyes lock onto yours, pupils blown wide with something between fury and fascination. "You think you can just walk away from me?" His breath ghosts hot across your lips as he leans in closer, the mocking lilt in his voice making your pulse rabbit. "Gotta be smarter than that, dumbass."