A whole week.
Seven full days passed without another incident.
Elijah Ashfang didn't appear out of nowhere. He didn't try to stab me, drown me, or torment me in some new, creative way. On the surface, everything was… quiet.
But quiet didn't mean safe.
It didn't mean Elijah wasn't still out there—still watching, still waiting, still out for my blood.
The nightmares never stopped. Dark water closing over my head. Glowing eyes in the shadows. Hands dragging me down. I woke up gasping more nights than not, my sheets twisted around me, my heart pounding like it was trying to escape my chest.
My senses had gone haywire. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind, every shadow that lingered a second too long set me on edge.
I caught myself glancing over my shoulder more times than I could count, half-expecting someone to lunge out of the darkness.
But nothing happened.
Fortunately.
Or maybe unfortunately.
Because the waiting—the not knowing—was starting to feel worse than the attack itself.
What haunted me most was the why.
Why would he want to kill me? What had I done? What reason could possibly justify it?
I wanted—no, I desperately wanted—to march up to him and demand answers. To look him in the eye and ask him what I'd done to deserve this.
"Lost in your thoughts again?" Amy asked, pulling me out of my spiral.
"What? No!" I panicked, scrambling to catch up with what she'd been saying. "I was totally listening to you. You were saying… that…"
"Selina?" She stopped me mid-sentence, her voice softer now. "Is this because of what happened at the lake?"
I froze.
She was observant—more than most. We'd only known each other for a week, yet she'd already noticed the small changes in me: the way I flinched at sudden noises, how my eyes kept drifting to exits.
I took a slow, steady breath. There was no way I could let her find out about Elijah.
What if he targeted me simply because I was a hybrid? The sneering faces of the werewolves flashed through my mind, their contempt still fresh. I couldn't drag someone else into this mess. I wouldn't.
"I get nervous in crowds," I said instead, carefully sidestepping the truth. "And being away from my parents is… getting to me."
It wasn't a lie. Not entirely.
Just not the answer to her question.
Amy studied me for a long second, like she was weighing whether to push further. Then she sighed and nodded.
"Yeah… that makes sense," she said gently. "Students here aren't exactly welcoming."
"How does everyone already know about the lake incident?" I grumbled under my breath.
The whispers never stopped.
Whenever I walked down the corridors, I could feel the stares burning into my back. That's her, they seemed to say. The hybrid who caused a scene at the lake. The one Elijah Ashfang saved.
No one said it to my face, of course. They just looked—lingering a little too long, judging quietly, making me want to shrink into myself and disappear.
Amy tried to brush it off. "Give it time," she said lightly. "This place feeds on gossip. By next week, someone else will set a classroom on fire or accidentally summon a demon."
I huffed despite myself.
"Come on," she added, tugging at my sleeve. "We're going to be late for the next class."
The lecture hall for Advanced Magic Theory was already half full when we rushed in. Rows of tiered desks curved around a circular platform etched with glowing runes, the air humming faintly with contained power.
"Great," Amy muttered. "We're late."
I hurried forward—and slammed straight into someone solid, nearly knocking us both off balance. Instead of falling, an invisible force caught us, steadying our bodies mid-stumble. Magic.
Before I could react, I found myself pressed against a strong, unyielding chest. Heat radiated from him, controlled and deliberated.
When I looked up, his silver-gray eyes met mine—and they were filled with open disgust.
"Get off me," he murmured, lifting his hands as if even touching me offended him.
"Sorry," I said quickly, stepping back at once. "I—I didn't see you."
He was handsome in a sharp, unsettling way. Dark hair fell into eyes that gleamed with something far too intense to be normal. His jaw was perfectly sculpted; his expression twisted into a slow, irritated sneer—as though my very existence annoyed him.
"Watch where you're going," he said coldly, staring at me like I'd done it on purpose.
"I said I'm sorry," I replied, irritation flaring. It hadn't been entirely my fault—he'd been standing in the middle of the aisle.
Before I could say more, Amy grabbed my hand and dragged me toward an empty seat.
"The professor is here," she whispered urgently.
I let myself be pulled away.
When I looked back, his eyes were on me, I fixed him with a glare before turning away. For the rest of the class I could feel his gaze on my back—cold, sharp, and lingering far longer than necessary.