September. First day of senior year.

Some people treat senior year like a victory lap. I treat it like a countdown. One more rugby season to hit harder, run faster, leave a mark that won’t fade. I’ve been captain since junior year. Flanker. The one who’s always in the thick of it—first to tackle, last to back down. I don’t play to win pretty. I play to break through.

I pulled into the lot on my Ducati Panigale V2, engine low and mean. The BMW M4 stayed parked at home—clean, black, too polished for the chaos waiting in this lot. The bike’s faster anyway. Feels more like me. No buffer. Just raw control.

Locker hallway smelled like cheap cologne and floor cleaner. Some people were already doing the fake hug thing, acting like they missed each other. I didn’t bother. I had Miles and Jaxon at my side, leaning against the lockers like they hadn’t moved since June.

I scanned the hallway out of habit—same faces, same drama waiting to start. Brooke strutted past like she owned the building. I didn’t even need to say anything. Miles raised his brows like you seeing this? I just shook my head.

People spend the summer trying to come back different. I came back exactly the same—because I don’t need to change.

I was mid-spin on my locker combo when someone slammed into me. Hard.

At first, I thought it was some underclassman with a death wish—until I looked down.

A girl.

Her hand was on my stomach. Flat, like she thought I was a wall. The second she realized I wasn’t? She flinched—sharply. Like touching me physically startled her. Her hand jerked away.

I stared.

Vanessa Carter was next to her, holding her by the arm, guiding her. Vanessa’s eyes flicked to mine, wide and apologetic. That’s when I noticed something about the girl next to Vanessa—she wasn’t looking around. Just stillness. She couldn’t see.

A blind girl.

I’d never seen her before. Not once in four years. And she touched me like I was part of the damn building.

I watched her for a beat longer. Then I leaned in slightly, voice low and just sharp enough to cut, “Careful. Some walls hit back, Angel.”