By the time lunch ended, my pulse still hadnt slowed. My stomach twisted in heavy knots.
I told Peach and Cassidy I had a class, but really, I just needed to breathe somewhere Jordan Files didn't exist. But wasn't he everywhere?
Like a plague.
Like a bad decision I would definitely regret. Just like Maren did.
"Principal Scavenger will be addressing the entire student body in exactly half an hour " Cassidy said, glancing at the watch on her wrist.
"Yeah" Peach agreed in a snort "We should probably just hang around till then".
"Yeah .. We should " I smiled with a mirth I didn't feel "But somehow I think aff got a runny stomach or something.." I grabbed my tummy in a fake gasp of pain.
Peach's hand went to my shoulder, concern flickering across her bright face. "Oh no, Night! Are you okay?"
"Yeah… just… you know… the usual," I muttered, rocking slightly for effect.
Cassidy leaned in, lowering her voice. "You don't sound okay. Maybe we should take you to the nurse?"
I shook my head, clutching my stomach again. "No, no… just… need some air."
Peach gave me a sympathetic pat. "Poor thing. Must've eaten something weird. Come on, let's get you out of here before you—"
I stumbled backward a little, letting the faux weakness carry me. "Yeah… fresh air… right."
Cassidy caught my arm, fussing. "Wait, don't just wander off! You'll—"
I smiled weakly, letting her worry fill the room like smoke. "I'll be fine, promise. Just… need a minute alone."
Peach leaned closer, whispering like I was fragile glass. "Okay… but hurry back, alright? Don't do anything stupid."
I nodded, managing a faint laugh. "Wouldn't dream of it."
And with their backs turned for just a heartbeat, I slipped out of the cafeteria, letting the bustling crowd swallow me whole.
The corridor stretched before me, quiet, empty, and forgiving. Every step took me further from their eyes, further from the whispers of the cafeteria, further from the chaos of what I shouldn't want.
Alone. Finally alone.
The old rehearsal hall behind the music wing had been locked for weeks, its instruments gathering dust like forgotten sins. I slipped in through the cracked side door and shut it behind me.
Silence. Blessed, heavy silence.
I dropped onto the piano bench and stared at the keys. The white ones gleamed, the black ones looked like scars. I pressed a single note — soft, hollow. It lingered too long.
A little bit like regret.
And then—footsteps.
Low. Certain. Familiar.
I didn't turn "I need a minute alone." My voice was flatter than the cold floor "Emphasis on ALONE".
"Funny " Said a voice I knew better than my own heartbeat. " Considering the fact that I always break the rules."
My chest tightened. I turned.
Jordan Fucking Files.
Yes. It was him alright. Jacket unzipped, his shirt was a blend of nostalgia and careless arrogance. He reeked of danger... And me.
A lump rose in my throat.
"You shouldn't be here " I managed to say. It was the right thing to say. He shouldn't be here.
We shouldn't be doing this. Again.
He smirked "You always say that before breathing faster. "
Damn. The fucking audacity.
"Do you realize what you pulled back there?" I snapped, standing now. "Looking at me like that. Half the cafeteria might have interpreted that look. "
He said simply "I looked at you. Not a crime last time I checked. "
The grating nonchalance was enough to piss me off further.
"It is here," I hissed. "In this damned Academy, in this fucked up country . It's the only crime that comes with flames."
He stepped closer. I backed up until the piano pressed against my hips.
He didn't touch me—but the air did. The scent of him, the way it wrapped around me, the way it remembered.
"Let them burn me then," he said, voice low. "You think I care?"
"Stop pretending to be fearless," I said. "You care about everything—your career, your fans, your charts. You love being Jordan Files."
"Well I am Jordan Files" His voice was smoother than silk. His hands found their way to my shoulders. I shrugged them off like a leper's touch. "You should stop hating me for it."
"I want no part in this " I said sullenly, too soon, afraid the tears might announce a vulnerability I was trying to hide.
God. I wanted this.
Wanted him.
All of him.
He moved closer, eyes pale as winter, and for a second, I saw the ache behind them. The loneliness that even fame couldn't wash out. I wanted to erase that. To carry his face in my palms and wash away the scars that the years might have brought on him.
I wanted the ache in his eyes to disappear.
I wanted to love him. To dissolve completely in him. I wanted to stand in front of the council and hold him in a tight, never ending hug.
But was that not a suicide wish.
Was that not a cry for death.
Were we not doomed already.
He took another step, and suddenly there was nowhere left to go. My butt hit the piano, and the notes shuddered under the movement — a dissonant hum that sounded almost alive.
"Don't," I whispered. It wasn't a command. It was a prayer.
He stopped just short of touching me, his breath steady, eyes locked on mine. "You keep saying that, Night. But you never walk away."
"I try," I said. My voice cracked, soft as the trembling keys beneath me. "Every time, I try."
He leaned in, just enough for the air between us to quake. "Then stop trying."
The words weren't loud. They didn't need to be. They carried the quiet kind of conviction that makes the world tilt on its axis.
"Jordan—"
"I'm not Darian," he said, the words sharp, almost bitten. "And you're not Maren. We don't end like them."
A bitter laugh slipped through me. "Everyone who said that ended exactly like them."
His jaw flexed. "Then let them make legends of our ashes."
I wanted to scream, to shove him, to tell him that love wasn't worth dying for — but his voice was too soft, too damned sincere.
"Do you even hear yourself?" I asked, almost choking on the ache. "You sound like every cursed lover in every tragedy. And they all die."
He reached up, brushing his thumb along my jaw — not rough, not forceful, just certain. "Maybe that's the only way to live, Night. Loving something enough that dying doesn't scare you anymore."
My breath hitched. "You're insane."
His lips twitched. "Probably."
The silence between us thickened .
I should have pushed him away. I should have remembered Maren's ashes, the screams, the Council's feed, the smoke. But all I could see was him — the storm in his eyes, the ache in his voice when he said my name like it was something sacred.
"Jordan…"
"Tell me you don't want this," he said quietly. "Look at me and say it."
I couldn't. God help me, I couldn't.
The piano shivered again under the weight of us. His forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling, both of us trembling — not from fear, but from the gravity of what loving him meant.
"This ends here," I whispered.
He smiled faintly, brokenly. "Then why are you still shaking?"
And that was it — the line, the undoing, the reminder that no matter how much I wanted to run, I already belonged to the fire.
It was my mouth that found his even if my brain preached a different sermon. I let my tongue peruse the length and breath of his mouth. Jordan shivered, one hand grabbing my cheek , the other stamped on my waist.
His tongue glided effortlessly inside my mouth, our lips staying stamped in a frenzy. Awakened, aroused, tempted, the tears made their unhurried entrance out of my eyes, sometimes sliding into our gummed lips to let that grim taste into our conjoined throats.
Salt.
And the iron clad helm of dominance. And doom. And that perfect blend of wolfish growl and a human moan, the perfect recipe for disaster.
But none of us pulled away. Till our throats arched. Till the tears left welts on my face. Till our tongues felt heavy and the piano groaned and creaked beneath our weight. Till something sat in the pits of our stomachs. Something fluttery. Butterflies.
Till our breaths rose and slowed and rose again.
Till we heard the low grating sound of the doorknob twisting. Then we parted silently, already cursing the intruder.
The doorknob turned again and this time we froze.
Jordan's eyes cut to the sound, his body tensing in a flash of wolfish instinct. Then the door creaked open, and a familiar voice filled the air like poison.
"Well," Derrick Vale drawled. "Isn't this cozy?"