The town smelled like pine and pavement and the faint, lingering ghost of something burned.
Alex Rowan sat in the passenger seat of his father's dusty black truck, chewing on a piece of sour candy until his jaw ached. It was the only thing sharp enough to pull him out of his head, where thoughts twisted like thorns.
Eastbridge, Colorado. Population: too small. Forests: too many. And according to his father, monsters: just enough to keep them here for a while.
"Try not to draw attention to yourself," Marcus said, pulling into the parking lot of Eastbridge High like he'd done this a thousand times before. "Keep your head down."
Alex rolled his eyes. "Right. Blend in. Like camouflage, but for broken kids."
Marcus didn't respond. He never did when Alex got like this — acidic, bitter, sharp on the edges. He just stared ahead through the cracked windshield, knuckles white on the wheel.
The high school looked like a postcard from ten years ago — low brick buildings, chipped white window frames, and a sagging banner that read "Go Wolves!" in letters that had probably been repainted every year since 1998.
Marcus cut the engine, and exhaled. He glanced at Alex, eyes unreadable.
"Don't tell anyone about… anything."
Alex raised a brow. "You mean the part where you think we're vampire hunters?"
Marcus's jaw twitched. "Just keep to yourself."
"Always do."
Without waiting for a response, Alex crunched the candy between his molars, pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold. The cold morning air slapped him in the face. Fresh. Too fresh. The kind of air that belonged to a place untouched by the rot of cities. And he pulled his hoodie tighter around him as the truck pulled away behind him.
The parking lot was filling fast. Students spilled out of cars in groups, laughter and footsteps echoing across the asphalt.
He hated it already.
The school building loomed in front of him — red brick, cracked concrete, a flag flapping lazily on the pole. Kids were filing inside in clumps, heads bent against the breeze. No one looked up. No one noticed him.
Except one.
Across the lot, standing by the front steps with a girl wearing a green beanie, was a boy with eyes the color of storm clouds and impossibly cold.
He didn't smile. Didn't look away.
Alex stopped walking, his heart beat once — loud enough to echo in his ears.
There was nothing obviously strange about the guy. He looked normal — a little too perfect, maybe, but normal. Still, Alex felt something in his chest shift, a tug low in his stomach that didn't make sense. Like he was being seen, really seen, and not in the way that made him feel exposed — in the way that made him feel marked.
Then the boy blinked, turned away, and walked through the doors, and the moment shattered like glass.
Alex let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Well. That was weird.
Inside, the school felt like every other one Alex had known. Beige walls, flickering lights, the scent of cafeteria grease clinging to the lockers. It was early spring, but the halls still felt like winter — cold, tense, waiting.
The front office was bright and cramped and smelled like printer ink. A secretary with tired eyes smiled too brightly, said something about "fresh starts" and "new beginnings," and sent him off with a schedule and a map of the school, before he could ask for directions. She was already back on the phone with someone else.
He didn't need it. He'd gotten good at navigating unfamiliar places. You had to, when you moved every six months.
Room 104. First period English.
He slipped in just before the bell and tried not to care that everyone turned to look. He felt the heat crawl up his neck but kept his face blank. Neutral.
"Class," said the teacher — a woman with silver streaks in her black hair — "we have a new student. This is Alex Rowan. Please try not to scare him away in his first week."
A few chuckles.
Alex gave a tight nod. He spotted an empty seat near the back — next to him.
The storm-eyed boy.
He was slouched in his chair, hood down, hands folded in front of him like he couldn't care less. But as Alex moved past, the boy looked up.
And for a split second, something shifted.
Not recognition — not exactly.
Something else. Like instinct.
Alex sat beside him. The air between them felt…off. Like static. Like pressure. Like something in the world had clicked out of place the second they were near each other.
The class passed in a blur of syllables and scribbled notes. The teacher asked them to pair up and discuss a poem. Before Alex could look around, the storm-eyed boy turned to him.
"I'm Liam," he said.
His voice was soft. Steady. Like ice water trickling through cracks.
"Alex," he replied, tapping his pen against his notebook.
Liam tilted his head slightly. "New in town?"
Alex resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What gave it away? My lack of emotional damage or my charming outsider energy?"
Liam almost smiled. Almost.
There was something odd about his presence — not bad, just… quiet. Deep. Like someone who listened more than he spoke, who watched instead of acted.
"So," Liam said, glancing at the paper between them. "This poem's about dying alone in the woods. Real uplifting stuff."
Alex smirked. "Better than dying in a city. At least you get pine trees."
Liam looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.
"Fair point."
Second period was math. Third was history. By lunch, Alex was already sick of his own name. Every class was the same routine — teachers introducing him, students sizing him up like he was some kind of stray dog. He grabbed a tray of lukewarm food and scanned the cafeteria for somewhere to sit.
That's when he spotted her.
A girl in a green beanie, short blonde curls, boots scuffed like she kicked fences for fun. She was sitting at a table with Liam — who was now leaning back in his seat, chewing gum and looking like the human embodiment of "don't talk to me."
Harper.
Alex didn't know how he knew her name. Maybe someone had said it in passing. Or maybe it was just instinct.
He hovered awkwardly at the edge of their table.
Harper looked up. "New kid."
"Alex," he said. "Mind if I…?"
She motioned for him to sit. "Sure. Just don't bleed on the tablecloth. It ruins the aesthetic."
Liam chuckled under his breath. Alex sat down, suddenly aware of how close Liam's knee was to his under the table.
"I'm Harper. Liam's best friend."
Alex blinked. "That was fast."
"What was?"
"Knowing who I am."
She shrugged. "Small school. New faces stand out. And Liam noticed you."
Alex's heart gave a strange little lurch. "He… noticed me?"
Harper studied him with the kind of eyes that saw more than they let on.
"Look," she said, voice lower now. "He's a good guy. A little intense. Quiet. But he's been through a lot. So if you're planning to play with him, don't."
Alex frowned. "I'm not planning anything."
"Good." She stepped back, offered a smile. "Welcome to Eastbridge. Try not to get eaten alive."
By the time the final bell rang, the clouds had thickened outside, and rain had begun to fall. Alex pulled his hood up and walked home, his shoes kicking up puddles on the cracked sidewalk. He didn't know what to make of this town, or Liam, or the strange way the air always felt colder when they were near each other.
He popped another piece of sour candy into his mouth, wincing at the sharpness.
He hated sour candy.
But something about the sting made the silence easier to carry.