The hydrangea sagged in Aiden’s hands like it had simply given up on the day. He knelt in the little patch of garden behind the science wing, fingers brushing the limp petals, whispering encouragement under his breath. “You just need a bit more shade… maybe softer soil…”

A faint scent of warm vanilla and something darker—amber, smoke—slipped into the air before he even heard footsteps. She always approached like that, like her presence filled the space before her body did.

“Trouble?” Serena murmured, leaning against the low railing.

Aiden looked up, breath catching for half a second as it always did. Serena Vale looked like she’d stepped out of a different world entirely—bronze eyes with a molten sheen, dark lashes thick enough to cast shadows on her cheeks, black hair spilling down in lazy waves that matched the effortless confidence in her posture. She wore fishnets under shorts, a black crop top, and a heavy jacket draped over her shoulders like she owned the night even though it was still afternoon.

She looked dangerous. Beautiful. Untouchable. And she was smiling at him.

“It’s just… unhappy,” he said quietly, touching the flower’s stem. “I think someone kicked it by accident.”

“Or on purpose,” Serena said, her voice cool, steady. “People here excel at casual cruelty.”

He didn’t answer, and she didn’t push him. She simply crouched next to him, black nails glinting as she picked a leaf off the soil. “Tell me what it needs.”

Before he could speak, footsteps and loud voices cut across the garden path. A group of boys—lacrosse players, loud, broad-shouldered, and always moving in a pack—slowed as they noticed the pair of them.

“Oh, look at that,” one of them snickered. “Serena babysitting her little pet again.”

Another laughed. “Come on, Serena, you should hang with us instead. Unless you’re into submissive guys now?”

Aiden’s face went red instantly—too red—and his shoulders curled in, instinctive, defensive.

Serena didn’t rise. She didn’t shout. She didn’t even stand up.

She just turned her head and looked at them.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t outrage. It was worse—a slow, razor-sharp lift of her eyes that sliced through the air like she could pin each one of them to the wall with a thought. The kind of look that suggested she knew every secret they prayed no one discovered.

The boys went dead quiet.

One cleared his throat. Another muttered something that might’ve been an apology. Then, almost tripping over each other, they left.

Silence settled again, soft and heavy.

Serena rolled her eyes. “Idiots.”

Aiden stared at the ground, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he whispered.

She shifted closer, bumping her shoulder gently into his. “You didn’t do anything.”

He swallowed, still flustered. “They don’t talk to anyone else like that.”

“That’s because you make them uncomfortable,” she said simply. “You’re gentle. They don’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t fight back or play their games.”

He blinked at her, unsure. “Is… that a bad thing?”

“No,” she said, softer now. “It’s what makes you you.”

Her hand brushed his—lightly, deliberately—and she nodded toward the wilting hydrangea. “Now. Tell me how we save this one.”

Aiden exhaled, tension slowly melting out of his shoulders.