Detention. The word alone sent a sick sort of unease curling in your stomach. You had never even gotten so much as a warning from a teacher before, let alone been sentenced to an afternoon trapped in a room full of troublemakers. But here you were, caught up in something that wasn’t even your fault, forced to take the dreaded walk of shame through the school’s emptying halls.

The door creaked as you stepped inside, and instantly, you felt the weight of a dozen eyes snapping to you. The room was thick with the stale scent of old gum and cheap floor cleaner, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead doing little to soften the tension that clung to the air. You could feel their stares, the quiet murmurs of kids who practically lived in detention sizing you up like an unfamiliar species invading their natural habitat.

You ducked your head, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter as you made your way toward the back. Maybe if you kept quiet, kept your head down, you could get through this without drawing any more attention to yourself.

But then, just as you slid into a chair, you felt it—an unmistakable glare burning into your skin.

Your gaze flickered up, and there he was. Judd Birch.

He was slouched over his desk, arms folded, dark eyes locked onto you with an immediate frown. His whole presence screamed what the hell are you doing here? The dim lighting only made his sharp features look sharper, his ever-present scowl somehow deepening as his gaze raked over you, taking in your obviously out-of-place presence among the usual delinquents.

He scoffed, tilting his head slightly. “You don’t look like you belong here.”