Friday evening settled heavy over Windmere Academy. The halls were quieter than usual, students scattering toward weekend freedom. Sophie lingered in the library, letting the silence press close around her. Books and ink were safer than the outside world, safer than the storm brewing in her chest.
She told herself she was only staying late to study. But the truth gnawed at her: part of her was waiting.
Waiting for him.
And when Marcus's shadow stretched across her desk, she hated herself for being right.
"You always hide here," he said casually, leaning on the back of the chair across from her. "Like a ghost haunting the shelves."
Sophie's throat tightened. "Maybe I like being a ghost. Nobody notices ghosts."
Marcus tilted his head, his smirk slow, deliberate. "I notice."
The words landed like a strike. Sophie's pen stilled above the page. She forced herself to meet his gaze, though her pulse quickened. "You only notice when it entertains you."
"Do I?" He slid into the chair opposite, his presence overwhelming the quiet. "Or do I notice because I can't stop?"
Sophie's chest clenched. She wanted to dismiss it, to shove his words aside as another game. But his eyes betrayed him—dark, unguarded, dangerous.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"Neither should you." His voice softened, losing its sharp edge. "But here we are."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unspoken. Sophie fidgeted with her notebook, fingers trembling against the worn edges.
Marcus's gaze dropped to it. "Let me read something."
"No." The word tore out sharper than she intended.
"Why not?"
"Because it's mine."
Marcus leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You hide in your words. You think no one sees them. But I do. I want to."
Sophie swallowed hard, her chest tight. "Why? Why do you care?"
For the first time, he didn't answer with a smirk. His eyes flickered, as if wrestling with something inside him. Finally, he spoke, his voice low.
"Because when I look at you, I see myself. The parts I don't want anyone else to see."
The admission hit Sophie like a blow. She sat frozen, her breath caught between fear and something far more dangerous.
Marcus quickly looked away, the mask threatening to slide back into place. But she had seen it—the crack, the rawness.
And it terrified her.
The library's clock chimed, startling her. The building would be closing soon. Sophie began gathering her things, desperate to escape the tension twisting tight around her.
But as she stood, Marcus rose too, blocking her path with casual ease.
"You're scared of me," he said softly.
Sophie's breath hitched. "Shouldn't I be?"
His smirk returned, but it was thin, brittle. "Maybe."
"Then why don't you leave me alone?" she demanded, her voice breaking.
He stepped closer, the air between them electric. "Because I can't."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her feet stayed rooted. His presence burned, filling every inch of space.
"You confuse me," Sophie whispered.
"Good." His eyes darkened, his voice rough. "Because you confuse me too."
For a moment, the world narrowed to just them—the quiet library, the thunder of her heartbeat, the fire in his gaze. Sophie felt herself pulled toward him, as though gravity itself had shifted.
But then footsteps echoed in the distance. The librarian's voice called out, reminding them the building was closing.
Marcus stepped back quickly, mask snapping into place. His smirk was sharp, practiced. "See you Monday, Nobody."
And just like that, the moment shattered.
He walked away, leaving Sophie trembling in the dim light, notebook clutched to her chest.
She sank back into the chair, her body weak, her mind spinning.
Because in the flicker of unguarded truth, Marcus Hale had become something far more dangerous than a tormentor.
He had become inevitable.
That night, Sophie lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The storm outside had quieted, but inside her, it raged stronger than ever.
She replayed every word, every look, every crack in his armor.
And no matter how much she tried to deny it, one truth burned in her chest:
She was falling.
Not in spite of the danger.
Because of it.