Aleah's POV
The halls felt different that day—less like a battlefield, more like a stage where every glance was a cue, every word a line in a carefully written script. I wasn't just wandering anymore. I was hunting.
Yasmin.
Her name tasted like something bitter on my tongue, a mix of sweet nostalgia and sharp regret. She thought she'd escaped me, that the cracks between us had sealed shut. But cracks don't close—they only widen under pressure.
I spotted her near the lockers, laughing with a few friends. Her smile was the same one that used to hold me captive—the one I learned to mimic, to twist. I slid in beside her like a shadow, casual and silent, watching the flicker of surprise in her eyes when she saw me.
"Hey," I said, voice softer than she'd expect, like a secret meant just for her.
She blinked, searching my face, hesitating.
"I missed you," I whispered, watching her swallow hard.
Yasmin's defenses dropped a fraction, like a curtain fluttering in a breeze. That was all I needed.
We started talking—slow, careful steps, rebuilding bridges I'd burned. I showed her my cracks, just enough to be vulnerable but not broken. A flicker of doubt in my voice, a tremble in my hands—bait.
"You always thought I was fragile," I said once, voice low. "But I'm not. I'm dangerous."
Her eyes widened, confusion mingling with something darker—curiosity? Fear?
I smiled, the kind of smile that doesn't promise salvation but something far more intoxicating.
"I want you to need me," I said. "Not because I'm perfect, but because you can't live without the chaos I bring."
Yasmin leaned in, lips barely brushing my ear. "Am I losing my mind?"
"Maybe," I whispered back. "Or maybe you're finally seeing the truth."
I could see the shift in her—the way her gaze flickered, the hesitation that turned into fascination. It was happening. She was unraveling, piece by piece, just like I planned.
And as the day folded into night, I knew one thing for certain:
She was mine again. Completely.