The cafeteria was louder than any room Sophie had ever walked into. The ceilings arched high above her, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly like insects caught in glass. Hundreds of students sat at long tables, their chatter and laughter rising and crashing like waves. For everyone else, it was just another day at Windmere Academy. For Sophie, it was survival.
She gripped her tray tighter than necessary, fingers whitening around the edge. The meal on it—a small bowl of soup, a sandwich, and an apple—looked pitiful compared to the towers of fries and pizzas on other trays. She didn't care about the food. She cared about where to sit.
Walking through the rows felt like walking across a battlefield without armor. Conversations hushed as she passed, eyes lifted, assessing. Some didn't bother to hide their stares. A few smirked, as though her presence alone was entertainment.
She told herself not to react. Just keep walking. Find an empty seat. Eat quickly, quietly, invisibly.
At the far wall, she spotted a nearly empty table with only a backpack occupying one chair. Relief loosened the knot in her chest. She moved toward it, each step lighter, her focus narrowing on the chair she could claim. She imagined the safety of it, a wall at her back, the chance to blend in.
Then it happened.
A foot slid out from nowhere, subtle and deliberate. Her shoe caught it before she even realized what was happening. The tray jolted. Soup sloshed over the edge, and in an instant the entire meal flew forward, crashing to the floor in a mess of liquid, bread, and shards of ceramic.
The sound silenced the cafeteria for a heartbeat. Then came the laughter.
It wasn't light laughter, not the kind that came from amusement. This was sharp, cruel, practiced. It rang from a cluster of boys at a nearby table—the same ones Sophie had noticed in class earlier that morning. The pack. Four of them, their uniforms worn like badges of rebellion, their presence magnetic in the worst way.
One leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Careful, new girl," he called, voice cutting across the room. "Don't want to drown in your soup on your first week."
The laughter erupted louder this time, joined by others who weren't even part of the original joke.
Sophie froze on her knees, cheeks burning so hot she thought they might scorch her skin. Her hands trembled as she reached for the shards of the bowl, the ruined sandwich now soggy with broth. Her vision blurred, but she forced the tears back, swallowing them like poison. Crying here would mean losing.
Her fingers slipped on a shard, and pain sliced across her skin. A small cut, but it stung. She curled her hand into a fist to hide it, pressing the wound against her jeans.
"Hey, don't cut yourself," another boy from the group jeered. "We wouldn't want blood all over the floor. You'll scare the little kids."
More laughter.
Her stomach twisted, but she kept her head down, kept gathering the pieces. If she ignored them long enough, maybe they'd grow bored. Maybe she could disappear.
But curiosity got the better of her. She glanced up—and met his eyes.
Marcus.
He sat in the center of the group, not leaning forward like the others, not grinning as widely. His dark eyes locked on hers with a weight that pinned her in place. For the briefest second, there was no laughter, no cafeteria, no broken bowl. Just that look.
It wasn't kind. But it wasn't cruel either. It was something else, something she couldn't name.
Then it was gone. He blinked, leaned back, and smirked. The sound of his laugh joined the others, and Sophie felt the invisible knife twist deeper than any words could.
She forced herself to her feet, clutching the wreckage of her lunch. The cafeteria staff was watching now, one of them already approaching with a mop and a resigned expression. Sophie mumbled an apology and fled, her shoes squeaking against the linoleum as the laughter followed her out the door.
The bathroom was cold and smelled faintly of bleach. Sophie locked herself in the last stall, setting the remains of her tray on the floor before pressing her back against the door. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her breath catching on the edges of a sob.
She uncurled her fist and examined the cut on her palm. It wasn't deep, just a thin line of red. Still, it was proof. A mark she could point to and say, This is what they did.
But no one would listen. She knew that already.
Tearing a strip of tissue, she pressed it against the wound, watching it stain pink. Her reflection in the small mirror above the sink was pale, eyes rimmed red. She hated the way she looked—weak, fragile, exactly what they wanted her to be.
Her vow echoed in her head: Stay invisible. Keep your head down. Survive.
But invisibility was already slipping away. They had noticed her. The pack had claimed her as their new game.
And Marcus Hale—his eyes haunted her most of all. She wished she could forget that flicker of hesitation, that almost-human look. It would have been easier if he had just laughed like the rest without faltering. But that moment of weakness made everything worse.
Because now Sophie didn't just fear him. She wondered about him.
And wondering was dangerous.
The rest of the day blurred. Teachers spoke words Sophie couldn't hear, students passed her in the hall without seeing her. By the time the final bell rang, her body felt hollow, her mind buzzing with exhaustion.
At home, her mother asked, "How was your day?" and Sophie forced a smile. "Fine."
She ate dinner without tasting it. She finished her homework in silence. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain against her window.
But sleep didn't come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Marcus. The way his gaze had pinned her, the way his smirk didn't quite match the laughter.
Sophie turned onto her side and pulled the blanket tighter. She whispered into the dark, words only for herself.
"You will not break. You can't."
But deep down, she knew the truth. Something had already cracked.
And Marcus Hale had been the one to strike first.