The whole day, Aiden had felt it—a prickling at the back of his neck, a shadow lingering just beyond sight. Like someone was watching him, studying him. Every glance over his shoulder found nothing, but the feeling wouldn't quit.
It wasn't until Angela slid into the lunch table beside him that the mystery settled in place.
Connie was introduced casually, almost in passing. Angela waved her over during lunch, sliding a tray aside to make room at the table.
"This is Connie," Angela said. "She's new. Just transferred in."
Connie offered a soft smile and a small wave. "Hi."
Aiden's heart stopped.
She looked different—but not enough. The same posture. The same eyes. That smile. For a second, he forgot to breathe.
Ben and Mike were practically falling over themselves, grinning like idiots. Tyler muttered something under his breath that made Eric snort. The guys were obviously thrilled to have another pretty girl at the table.
Aiden forced himself to keep his face blank, but his fingers tightened around his sandwich.
Jessica's tone turned sugary. "Nice to meet you," she said, a little too bright.
Angela, ever the diplomat, kept it warm. "Where are you from?"
"Just outside Chicago," Connie replied smoothly.
There it was. A subtle jab straight into his ribs.
Aiden didn't look at her. Couldn't. Not directly. His eyes flicked down to his tray, but his mind was racing.
Does she know I'm here? Did she come for me? Is this random—or is this war?
He didn't like the answer forming in his gut.
"Welcome to Forks," Bella said politely. "It's... quieter than Chicago, I guess."
Connie let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah. That's not a bad thing, though."
Aiden couldn't help it—he looked up for a split second. She was watching Bella, but not in a threatening way. More like... observation. Measuring.
Then he felt it—that low thrum in the air.
Edward.
The guy hadn't said a word yet, but his eyes were locked on Connie. Not rude. Not unfriendly. Just deeply, intensely aware.
She met his stare, barely for a moment, then looked away. Smooth. Controlled. Just like always.
Aiden's pulse hammered beneath his cool exterior.
She was playing innocent, but every move she made was calculated. She was good at this—blending in. Acting normal.
And no one else at the table noticed a damn thing.
He felt like he was sitting next to a landmine. And the worst part?
Part of him still remembered what it felt like to trust her.
The bell rang, a shrill reminder that lunch was over. Trays clattered, chairs scraped, and the group began to scatter. Aiden stood slowly, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He hadn't eaten much—not with Connie at the table.
He could feel her eyes on him. Like always.
"Hey—Aiden, right?"
Her voice was soft. Innocent. But he knew better.
He paused, turned halfway. "Yeah."
"You mind showing me where Mr. Toller's class is?"
It was a weak excuse, but nobody questioned it. Angela offered a helpful nod. "He's got it this period too."
Of course I do, Aiden thought bitterly.
"Sure," he said aloud, masking the chill in his voice. "Follow me."
They walked in silence down the hall. Students passed in flurries of motion and noise, but it all seemed to blur at the edges. Aiden's pulse was a steady throb in his ears.
When they passed the classroom, he didn't slow down. Connie didn't comment—just kept step behind him, silent as a shadow.
He ducked into an unused lab two doors down. The room was dim, long-forgotten since the science wing renovations. The smell of dust and old chemicals clung to the air like a memory that wouldn't die.
Aiden shut the door behind them hard.
"Talk," he said flatly.
Connie leaned against the counter near the windows, arms crossed, the sunlight catching just enough in her hair to give her an almost halo-like glow — ironic, considering how demonic the energy rolling off her felt.
She took her time scanning the room. Dust-covered books. Shattered beakers. Old stains on tile that hadn't seen a mop in years.
"This brings back memories," she murmured, running a finger slowly along the counter's edge. "Sneaking into places like this… with you. Hiding. Whispering. Touching."
Aiden's jaw clenched. "Don't."
She looked up at him through her lashes, all soft poison. "Don't act like this is some high school reunion. What are you doing here, Connie?"
She smiled — sweet, crooked, dangerous. "Angela said I transferred."
"Cut the shit."
Her smile twitched, fractured, but didn't vanish. Instead, it curved into something slower. More intimate. She stepped forward — not close, but close enough that Aiden's chest tightened.
"You used to like it when I played," she whispered. Her voice was low and syrup-thick now, brushing against the edges of something far too intimate for the daylight.
He stayed rooted, his body tense. Every inch of him screamed to move — forward or back, he wasn't sure.
Her eyes flicked to his mouth, then back up again.
"I missed you," she said.