The lecture ended. Students shuffled out, whispers trailing like smoke, glances flicking over shoulders as if the chaos of last night had followed me. Lockers rattled in the distance. Footsteps echoed. The hallway felt narrower, every sound amplified.
Steve slid into the seat beside me just before I stood, low-voiced, subtle."You saw it, didn't you?" he murmured, eyes scanning the hallway. "Someone posted a photo from last night in the unofficial group. Everyone's talking."
Heat surged up my neck. My stomach twisted. Whispers rippled:
"Did you see her at the alley with Kane?""Someone even got a photo…"
I pressed my bag closer. I didn't come here to get dragged into chaos. I came to graduate.
Students shuffled out, voices buzzing. I bent to gather my notes, but when I straightened, my eyes snagged on the corridor wall near the notice board.
A message scrawled in black marker:
"Kane still owes him—blood for blood."
The words stopped me cold. Him. Who? My chest tightened, unease crawling up my spine. A threat? A joke? Some stupid gang message?
No one else seemed to react. A couple of students passed, not even glancing at it. Maybe they'd seen it before. Maybe I was the only one who thought it mattered.
I tore my gaze away, shoved my books into my bag, and pushed toward the hallway.
I stepped into the hallway. Heart pounding. Chest tight. Every echo louder.
Then—a firm grip on my wrist. Sharp. Unyielding. My breath hitched.
I turned.
Adrian Kane. Dark eyes blazing, jaw tight, every inch the storm I'd glimpsed in the alley.
"I knew you'd come," he said, voice low, cutting through the hallway noise.
Confusion coiled. How could he know?
"Yesterday… when you swung your bag," he murmured, tone flat but edged. "Your admission letter fell."
He held it out, fingers flexing—not in anger, but calculation. My pulse spiked. Chest tightening. Wrist burning.
"Are you… a spy?" His voice was sharp, testing, but then—a mutter under his breath, almost swallowed: "Just like him."
Just like who? My brother's face flickered unbidden. No. Impossible.
I snatched the letter from his hand, paper crumpling, sweat smearing the ink. My knuckles were white against it.
A gasp. Someone froze mid-step. Another student's phone screen lit, camera angled too long in our direction. Whispers sharpened. Rumors growing—alive.
I lifted my chin. Words stumbled in my throat but one thought blazed: If he thinks I'm weak, he's wrong.
Adrian's gaze didn't move. His grip loosened, then tightened just enough to remind me—this wasn't over. A fraction closer, jaw tense, unreadable.
I yanked free, clutching the letter like a shield, and forced myself toward the gate.
My uncle's silhouette waited there. Relief. Safety. Almost.
But when I risked one glance back—Adrian was still watching. A smirk ghosted at his mouth. Behind him, thumbs flew over phone screens.
Whatever this was… it had only just begun.