Isla's POV
The hallway was silent.
Too silent.
But I didn't question it. It was clearly class time — the kind of quiet that came with fluorescent lights humming above lockers and footsteps echoing off polished floors. I liked it. No noise, no eyes.
I walked toward my locker, the click of my boots the only sound. My fingers hovered over the lock when—
A shift.
Breath. Behind me.
Too close.
Reflex kicked in before thought. My hand darted under my blazer, and in a blink, I spun — blade out, sharp and fast — pressing it right against the throat of whoever had just tried to sneak up behind me.
I met his eyes. Storm-grey.
The smirk on his lips shouldn't have been there.
His hands were raised halfway in mock surrender, but there was no fear in his expression. Only amusement. The kind that made my grip tighten on the hilt out of sheer annoyance.
"Whoa," he said, calm as anything. "Sharp reflexes, Goldly."
I didn't ease the blade.
"Don't call me that," I said flatly.
"Why not? Your hair practically screams it." His eyes flicked up toward the strands that had come loose from my ponytail. "It's dramatic. Like sunlight in a thunderstorm. You should be flattered."
"Try creeping up on me again and you'll see just how flattering a slit throat feels."
His grin widened.
God, he looked like Arthur. The same black hair, same jawline, same infuriating confidence. But this one—this one was more chaotic. Arthur was cold steel. This guy? He was a flickering flame, the kind that burned you just to see if you'd scream.
I stepped back, but slowly. The blade stayed in view, just not pressed to his neck anymore.
He tilted his head, studying me with theatrical curiosity. "So, what's your deal? You always pull knives on students, or am I just special?"
"You're the idiot who sneaks up on people."
"I call it… creative introduction."
I didn't smile. Not even a twitch. He did though — all teeth and danger dressed in charm.
"You're Gray's brother," I said, more a statement than a question.
He gave a mock gasp. "That obvious? I was hoping to stay low-key."
"Too late."
"Damn. Should've dyed the hair or something." He paused, then pointed lazily at the dagger still in my hand. "Nice blade, by the way. Fits the vibe, u can call me Ares."
"What vibe?"
He winked. "Queen of Daggers."
I rolled my eyes and finally slipped the knife back beneath my blazer. "Try that again and you'll meet the real queen."
He leaned back against the lockers like we were just old friends having a chat. "Noted, Your Highness."
I turned to go, but his voice followed — still light, still amused.
"You passed, by the way."
I paused.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, pushing off the locker with a casual shrug. "Just talking to myself."
Liar.
I turned my head slightly, but he was already looking away, hands slipping into his hoodie pockets like he hadn't just tried to get a knife to the throat.
I blinked—and he was gone.
No footsteps. No creak of a door. Just empty hallway.
My brows furrowed.
I turned in a slow circle, scanning every corner.
Nothing.
Only silence.
As if he'd melted into the shadows the same way he arrived—without warning, without sound.
I didn't like that.
Not because he scared me.
But because no one should move that fast without leaving a trace.
Not even a Gray.
I clicked open my locker, trying to shake off the chill crawling up my spine.
Queen of Daggers, huh?
Whatever game he was playing, I'd make sure I stayed five steps ahead.
And next time, I wouldn't give him the luxury of walking away so easily.