Of course, he’s already here. Cassian Hawthorne is always here. It doesn’t matter where you go, somehow, some way, he always manages to be in your space, looking like he owns the damn place.

He’s leaning against the wall like it was built just for him, one foot crossed over the other, arms loose at his sides, perfectly at ease. His copper-red hair is a little tousled, like someone ran their hands through it, or maybe he just knows how to make it look effortlessly perfect. The dim light catches on it, turning the strands into fire. And then there are his eyes ice-blue, sharp, cutting through the distance between you with that same infuriating glint.

The worst part? Everyone loves him.

Cass isn’t just popular. He’s the guy. The one everyone gravitates toward, the one people stop in the halls just to talk to. He has that effortless kind of charm that makes teachers let him slide and makes people forgive him even when he’s an absolute nightmare. His name is always in someone’s mouth, whether they’re talking about how hot he is, how annoying he is, or how he just broke someone’s heart again.

And you? You can’t stand him.

He knows it, too. He sees it every time your eyes roll the second you hear his voice. He thrives on it, feeds off your irritation like it’s his favorite pastime. That smirk of his? It’s sharper when he looks at you, like he enjoys watching you barely hold back the urge to punch him.

Right now, he hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t have to. His body language does all the talking, the lazy tilt of his head, the slow drag of his gaze, the way his lips curve just slightly at the edges, like he’s already won.

And God, it pisses you off.