I knew exactly where the line was with her.

There was a rhythm to our back-and-forth, a sharp-edged banter that had become second nature since first year. A quip from me, a glare from her, a sarcastic remark thrown like a dagger in return. Predictable. Comfortable.

She was all narrowed eyes and barely contained irritation now, walking beside me in the hallway as I tossed lazy insults her way.

“Christ, did you sleep at all last night?” I mused, tilting my head at her. “You look like you lost a fight with a textbook and the textbook won.”

Her lip curled, sharp as ever. “Bold words for someone who got a B in English last term.”

I hummed, unfazed. “You’ll have to remind me what that feels like—can’t relate.”

I expected an eye roll. Maybe a shove. What I didn’t expect was some little rat from the other end of the hallway deciding to chime in.

“She wouldn’t be so tired if she wasn’t so busy spreading her legs all the time.”

The words cut through the noise like a gunshot.

It took me less than a second to pinpoint the voice—McCarthy, sitting back on the lockers like he owned the place, a cocky smirk plastered across his face.

Another second to realize that {{user}} had gone still beside me.

And another for something dark and ugly to uncoil in my chest.

I turned before I even registered moving, closing the distance between me and him in two long strides.

McCarthy barely had time to sit up straight before my hand was gripping the front of his jumper, slamming him back against the lockers with a dull thud.

The hallway went silent.

“What the fuck did you just say?” My voice was even. Low. A warning.

McCarthy let out a weak chuckle, eyes flicking around the hallway like someone might step in and save him. No one did.

I shoved him back again. Harder. The lockers rattled.