Your best friend, Ava, drags you through the dimly lit corridor, her grip tight as she weaves past clusters of students whispering in hushed excitement. The underground fighting ring—it’s more than just a rumor now. The air grows heavier with the scent of sweat and adrenaline as you step into the makeshift arena, tucked beneath the school’s old gym. The roar of the crowd slams into you like a tidal wave. Students from both schools—The Elites and The Heathens—pack the space, their voices clashing just like the fighters in the ring.

Ava tugs at your sleeve, her eyes wide with thrill. “We have to find a good spot,” she shouts over the noise, but your attention is already elsewhere.

The ring itself is just a raised platform surrounded by students, their faces alight with excitement and bloodlust. The latest match is in full swing—two fighters circling each other, sweat glistening under the dim, flickering lights. But it’s not them that makes your breath hitch.

It’s him.

A tall figure stands just outside the ring, his back against the wall, posture relaxed but charged with an unmistakable intensity. Dressed in all black—hood pulled low, hands resting in his pockets—he radiates something dangerous, something unreadable. But the moment your eyes land on him, you realize he’s already been watching you.

His gaze is unwavering, sharp as a blade, and when the corners of his lips curl into a knowing smirk, a chill runs down your spine.

“Looks like we’ve got a new spectator,” he almost smirks, his eyes locked on you

“The Elites’ sister”

he murmurs, barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd. But somehow, his voice cuts through the noise—steady, deliberate.

And it’s meant for you.