Friday arrived with a sharp chill in the air. The sky hung low and gray, heavy with unshed rain, and the corridors of Windmere buzzed with restless energy. Students laughed louder, pushed harder, whispered faster—as if they could sense the weekend just out of reach.
For Sophie, it was just another day to survive.
She walked through the hall with her books clutched tight, eyes fixed on the floor tiles. If she didn't make eye contact, maybe they wouldn't notice. Maybe she could fade into the static.
But fading was impossible when the world seemed determined to drag her into its center.
"Hey, Nobody," a voice called, sharp and mocking. One of Marcus's friends lounged against the lockers, grinning wide. "Lose your shadow today?"
Laughter rippled down the hallway. Sophie stiffened, quickening her pace.
Then she heard another voice. Calm. Low. Dangerous.
"Knock it off."
The laughter cut short. Silence pressed heavy, curious eyes turning. Sophie froze mid-step. She knew that voice.
Marcus.
He stood just a few feet away, arms folded across his chest, gaze leveled on his own friend. His expression wasn't playful this time. It was hard, sharp enough to slice.
The boy shifted uneasily, trying to recover. "Relax, Hale. We're just having fun."
"Yeah?" Marcus tilted his head, his smirk thin, edged with steel. "Does it look like I'm laughing?"
The hallway held its breath. Sophie's heart thudded painfully. For a moment, it almost seemed like Marcus was defending her.
But then his eyes flicked to hers. The smirk returned, practiced and easy, slipping over his face like armor.
"Besides," he added loudly, so everyone could hear, "I'm the only one who gets to mess with her."
Laughter erupted again, though thinner this time, uncertain. His friends clapped him on the back, tension dissolving into noise.
Sophie's face burned. She turned away, forcing herself to keep walking. Her chest ached, confusion tangled tight around her ribs.
Had he meant it? Or was it just another game?
That afternoon, Sophie hid in the library again. The steady quiet was a balm, though it did little to silence the storm in her head. She sat hunched over her notebook, scribbling words that blurred together, fragments of thoughts she couldn't voice aloud.
The scrape of a chair pulled her back to reality.
She didn't have to look up to know who it was.
Marcus slid into the seat across from her, as if the library were theirs alone. He rested his elbows on the table, chin tilted in amusement.
"You write a lot," he said, eyes flicking to her notebook.
Sophie slammed it shut. "It's none of your business."
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Touchy."
"Why are you here?" she snapped.
"Why are you?" His smirk lingered, but his eyes… his eyes told another story.
Sophie stared at him, frustration boiling over. "Why do you do this? One minute you're laughing with them, the next you're—" Her words broke, tangled in her throat. "I don't understand you."
Marcus leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Maybe you're not supposed to."
The answer infuriated her. She shoved her notebook into her bag, preparing to leave.
But his hand shot out, not touching her this time, just hovering close enough to stop her. "Wait."
Against her better judgment, she froze.
His smirk faltered, just slightly. The mask slipped. And for the first time, Sophie saw something raw beneath it—weariness, maybe even guilt.
"You think I don't notice?" he said quietly. "The way they treat you. The way you keep showing up anyway. You don't break, even when they want you to."
Her breath caught. The sincerity in his tone startled her more than any insult ever could.
"Why do you care?" she whispered.
Marcus held her gaze for a long moment. Then, like a curtain falling, the softness vanished. The smirk returned, his voice light again. "Maybe I don't."
He leaned back in his chair, arms folding behind his head, the perfect picture of arrogance.
But Sophie had seen it.
The crack.
And it terrified her more than the cruelty ever had.
That night, Sophie sat on her bed with her notebook open, the page blank. The rain finally came, pounding against the windows in steady rhythm.
Her hand hovered over the paper, pen trembling. She wanted to write it all down—the look in his eyes, the slip in his voice, the way he made her feel like maybe she wasn't invisible after all.
But she couldn't. Because to admit it on paper would make it real.
Instead, she scrawled one word across the page, over and over until the ink bled through.
Danger.
And still, when she closed her eyes, it wasn't fear she felt most.
It was the pull of something far more dangerous.
Something she didn't want to name.