(Elara Quinn's POV)
I'm late.
Not dramatically late. Not enough to matter.
Just enough to make an entrance.
I don't do it on purpose.
Okay—sometimes I do.
But today wasn't one of those days.
Still, the moment I step into the room, I feel it—the shift. Conversations pause for half a second longer than they should. Heads turn just slightly. Not obvious.
But noticeable.
It's always like this.
I smile out of habit, soft and easy, slipping into the role people expect of me. It's not fake.
Just… practiced.
"Finally," someone near the front laughs.
"Traffic," I say lightly, even though it's not entirely true.
I could've been earlier.
I just didn't feel like it.
I scan the room, acknowledging faces, returning smiles, letting the noise settle into something manageable.
And then—
I see her.
At the back.
Of course.
There's always someone at the back. Someone quiet, someone detached, someone trying very hard not to be part of anything happening.
But she's different.
She's not trying.
She already isn't.
Kaia Verene.
I've heard her name before, though not in the way people usually talk about others. No stories. No rumors. Just passing mentions, like she exists on the edge of everyone's awareness but never quite steps into it.
She's looking out the window.
Not pretending to listen.
Not pretending at all.
I like that.
Most people look at me the moment I walk in.
She doesn't.
That's new.
Interesting.
I should ignore it.
I don't.
My friends are saying something—I nod at the right moments, laugh when I'm supposed to—but my attention keeps drifting.
Back.
To her.
There's something almost deliberate in the way she stays removed. Like she built that distance herself and dares anyone to cross it.
Most people wouldn't.
Most people are smart enough to leave walls like that alone.
I'm not most people.
"Look who finally showed up," someone whispers—not to me, but near her.
She doesn't react.
Of course she doesn't.
I watch her for a second longer than necessary.
Then I decide.
I don't overthink it.
If I do, I won't go.
And I want to.
So I walk.
Straight to the back.
Straight to her.
Each step feels… louder than usual. Not because anyone's actually paying attention, but because I am.
She notices me when I'm already there.
Good.
I like being unexpected.
"Hi," I say.
Simple. Casual. Like this isn't unusual.
Like approaching the one person in the room who clearly wants nothing to do with anyone is a completely normal decision.
She looks at me.
Really looks.
There's no immediate reaction—no fluster, no recognition, no attempt to impress me.
Just… assessment.
"…Do I know you?" she asks.
Flat. Uninterested.
I smile.
Not because it's polite.
Because it's refreshing.
"Not yet," I say. "But I was hoping that could change."
There's a flicker in her expression—subtle, but there.
Disapproval.
Maybe annoyance.
Definitely resistance.
Perfect.
She leans back slightly, creating space between us.
"You're talking to the wrong person."
"Am I?" I tilt my head, studying her properly now.
She's sharper up close. Not just in the way she looks—but in the way she holds herself. Guarded, but not fragile.
"You seem like the right one."
She doesn't like that.
I can tell.
Good.
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
It's not entirely true.
But it's not a lie either.
I know she didn't look at me when I walked in.
I know she doesn't care about the things everyone else seems to.
I know she's real in a way that's… rare.
That's enough to start.
"You should go back to your friends," she says, glancing toward the front. "They look like they miss you."
"They'll survive."
"I won't," she mutters. "If this conversation keeps going."
I laugh—quiet, genuine.
She's not trying to be funny.
That makes it better.
"Okay," I say, stepping back slightly.
I could stay.
Push more.
But that's not the point.
Not yet.
"I'll go. For now."
Her expression tightens just a little at that.
She caught it.
Good.
"But I'll talk to you again," I add.
Because I will.
She meets my gaze, steady and unimpressed.
"No, you won't."
There it is.
The certainty.
The wall.
I smile.
Slow. Certain.
"Watch me."
And then I turn and walk away.
I can feel it—her attention lingering for half a second longer than she'd probably admit.
The room welcomes me back like nothing happened. Conversations resume, someone pulls me into a story, another asks where I've been.
I respond. I laugh. I play my part.
But part of me stays behind.
At the back of the room.
With the girl who didn't look at me—
until she did.
And when she did…
she didn't look away.
Not immediately, at least.
That's how I know.
She's not as unaffected as she wants to be.
And me?
I've already decided.
Kaia Verene isn't someone I'm going to ignore.
She's someone I'm going to understand.