Jason leaned against the table, folding his arms casually, though the gesture carried weight. "You've been testing people."
Her breath caught, but she forced herself to remain calm. "What makes you say that?"
"Because I do the same."
The words slipped from him effortlessly, but they struck her like a blade.
She stared at him, her mask threatening to crack. Was it a confession? A trap? Or just another move in their silent game?
Jason's gaze held hers with unnerving intensity. "You don't need to pretend with me, Lily."
Her name on his lips sounded different—sharper, darker, almost intimate.
She fought the urge to shiver. "What do you want from me?"
His answer was simple. Too simple.
"To see what you'll do next."
The days that followed blurred into a tension-soaked haze.
Neither of them spoke much in public, but their silence became its own language. A flicker of eye contact across the hallway. The way Jason lingered a moment too long when passing her desk. The faintest curl of his lips when she manipulated someone without effort.
Each interaction left her restless, burning with equal parts fear and exhilaration.
One afternoon, she tested him deliberately.
She "accidentally" dropped a note on the floor of the classroom, its corner sticking out from beneath her chair. The note wasn't innocent—it was written in her sharpest, most dangerous script.
They're all so easy to break. Sometimes I wonder how long it would take for someone to notice if one of them disappeared.
She made sure Jason was the one behind her when she left it there.
Minutes later, she slipped back into the room under the excuse of forgetting her pen.
The note was gone.
Jason sat at his desk, reading quietly, his face calm. When she passed him, he slid a folded piece of paper across her books without looking at her.
She opened it later, heart pounding.
His handwriting was neat, deliberate.
Longer than you think.
That night, Lily lay awake, staring at her ceiling.
The game had changed.
It wasn't her manipulating shadows anymore. It wasn't her experimenting on blind fools. It was a duel. A dialogue without words. A dance where every step brought them closer, tighter, more entangled.
And underneath it all, a dangerous spark pulsed between them—something darker than fear, sharper than desire.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to outwit him, destroy him, or kiss him.
Maybe all three.
The following week, rain hammered the school windows, casting gray light across the classrooms. During last period, the storm cut the power, plunging the halls into shadow. Teachers lit candles, students whispered nervously.
Lily felt strangely alive in the darkness.
And when the flicker of lightning illuminated Jason's face across the room, his eyes locked with hers through the gloom, she understood something terrifying.
This wasn't just a game anymore.
It was a bond.
And bonds like this never ended quietly.