Monday morning came with brittle sunlight breaking through the storm clouds, but Sophie felt no lighter. The weekend had done nothing to untangle her thoughts. If anything, the memory of Marcus in the bookstore—his voice, his eyes, his words—lingered like smoke she couldn't breathe past.
She told herself it didn't matter. He was still her tormentor. He was still the reason whispers followed her through the halls, the reason her locker was a graveyard for cruel notes. But the truth pressed against her ribs, relentless: he was also the only one who looked at her as though she were more than Nobody.
And that was the most dangerous part of all.
The halls of Windmere Academy buzzed with their usual chaos. Sophie kept her head low, weaving between groups of students, clutching her books to her chest. She could already hear the laughter, the whispers curling like smoke.
"There she is—Nobody."
Her jaw tightened. She didn't look up. She didn't have to.
A notebook flew from her arms, knocked clean by a shove to her shoulder. Papers spilled across the floor. Students snickered, stepping around her as though she were nothing but debris.
Sophie dropped to her knees, scrambling to gather the pages. Her fingers shook, her breath coming quick.
And then—a shadow fell across her.
Marcus.
He crouched, long fingers plucking one of the papers from the floor. He held it between them, eyes scanning the words she'd written in messy ink. A fragment of a poem, jagged and raw.
Sophie froze, blood roaring in her ears.
"'The fire beneath the ashes never dies,'" Marcus read softly, his voice so low only she could hear. His eyes lifted, locking on hers. "Is this you?"
Heat flooded her face. She snatched the paper from his hand, shoving it into her notebook. "Give it back."
He didn't smirk this time. His expression was unreadable, shadowed. "You write like you're burning."
Her throat closed. She wanted to snap at him, to tell him to leave her alone. But the words wouldn't come. Because part of her wanted to hear what he'd say next.
Before she could respond, one of his friends called down the hall. "Hale! Come on, man."
Marcus's mask returned in an instant. He stood, shoving his hands into his pockets, the easy smirk curling his lips again. "Careful, Nobody," he said loud enough for the others to hear. "Don't want to set the school on fire with all that angst."
Laughter echoed around them.
Sophie gathered the rest of her papers with trembling hands. She hated him. She hated how he could cut her open in private, then stitch the wound with cruelty in public. She hated that she still wanted to believe in the moment before the mask slipped back on.
By the time lunch came, Sophie couldn't stomach the cafeteria. She slipped outside to the courtyard, her book and notebook tucked under her arm. The autumn air was sharp, the stone benches slick with rain, but it was better than being surrounded by laughter that carved her hollow.
She opened her notebook, staring at the half-finished poem. The fire beneath the ashes never dies. Her pen hovered, desperate to bleed the ache onto the page.
"You shouldn't write that where they can see."
Her head snapped up. Marcus stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, gaze steady.
Sophie's chest tightened. "Why do you care?"
He hesitated, then sat on the opposite end of the bench, leaving space between them. For once, his friends weren't nearby.
"Because words like that… they're dangerous."
Sophie laughed bitterly. "Dangerous to who? You? Them? Or me?"
Marcus's eyes darkened. "All of us."
The silence stretched, heavy and charged. Sophie searched his face, looking for the smirk, the cruelty. But it wasn't there. Not right now. What she saw instead was something she didn't want to name—something fragile, something human.
"You don't get to say things like that," she whispered. "Not after everything."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I know."
Her breath caught. The admission was so quiet, so raw, it rattled her more than all the laughter and cruelty combined.
Before she could ask what he meant, the bell rang, its shrill cry shattering the moment. Marcus stood quickly, mask sliding back into place.
"See you around, Nobody," he said, but his voice lacked its usual bite.
And then he was gone, leaving Sophie with her notebook and a fire in her chest she couldn't put out.
That night, Sophie lay awake, her notebook open beside her. She traced the words she'd written earlier, her mind replaying Marcus's voice. You write like you're burning.
She hated that he'd seen her. Really seen her.
But worse—she hated that part of her wanted him to.
She whispered into the dark, her voice breaking.
"Don't let him in. Don't you dare."
But even as she said it, she knew the truth.
The fire beneath the ashes had already started to spread.
And Marcus Hale was the spark.