I finally reached my locker, my sanctuary, and wrenched it open. Taped to the inside was a single, folded square of paper.
My blood went cold. I knew that aggressive, slashing script. Kalen Blackthorne.
For a long moment, I just stared, my finger tracing the sharp crease. My hands were trembling. A part of me, a stupid, naive part, hoped it was an apology. The bigger, smarter part knew it was a bomb.
I peeled the tape back, the sound loud in my ears.
The note was short. Brutal.
Everyone's talking. They say you're a joke.
And you look like you've packed on even more weight. Maybe you should do everyone a favor and stay in the shadows where you belong.
The words didn't just sting; they crawled under my skin. My stomach twisted, the breakfast I'd forced down threatening to come back up. The hallway noise faded into a dull, roaring hum. He wasn't just insulting me. He was signing his name to it. Making sure I knew the source of the poison. This was a declaration.
I slammed the metal door shut with a crash that echoed down the hall. The sound felt good. I spun around, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
And there he was.
Leaning against the wall at the far end, as if he'd been waiting for the show. Arms crossed, looking utterly bored. But his eyes—those ice-blue eyes—were locked on me, intense and unblinking. He'd been watching. He'd timed it.
Then, the corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. A smirk of pure, cold triumph. It was the same look he'd given me when he'd tripped me in the cafeteria, when he'd whispered his first cruel taunt. It was the look that said I was nothing.
Something in me snapped.
I was across the hall before I even realized I was moving, my boots slapping against the linoleum. I stopped a foot from him, my fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.
"Why?" The word ripped out of me, raw and ragged. "What is your fucking problem, Kalen?"
He didn't flinch. He just pushed off the wall, unfolding his height until he was looming over me. The air crackled.
"My problem?" he said, his voice a low, infuriating rumble. "I'm not the one making a scene."
"You wrote that note."
"So?"
"So? You think that's okay? You think it's fun to tear someone apart for existing?"
He took a half-step closer, and I caught his scent—cedar and cold night air. It was disgustingly familiar. "I'm not tearing you apart, Liora. You're doing a fine job of that yourself. I'm just stating facts. You don't fit here. You stick out like a sore thumb."
"Because of you!" I hissed, my voice dropping. I could feel tears of pure, hot fury pricking at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "You're the one pointing the spotlight and telling everyone to laugh."
For a single, fleeting second, his mask slipped. His gaze flickered, and I saw something else—not regret, but a flicker of… something. Acknowledgment, maybe. Like he was actually seeing the damage.
But it was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by a colder, harder veneer.
"You're not going to survive here," he said, his voice dropping, the words meant only for me. "You're too soft. You wear every insult on your face. You think this is a pack that coddles its weak? You're an outcast, and outcasts don't get pity. They get chewed up."
The truth of it was a physical blow. He was voicing my deepest fear.
"Yeah, well," I spat, my voice shaking with the effort to keep it steady. "At least I'm not the pathetic one who gets his kicks from bullying a girl his own mother took in. What's wrong, Kalen? Does my existence here threaten your precious little kingdom?"
His jaw tightened. A direct hit.
He leaned in, his breath ghosting my ear. "It doesn't matter what I start," he murmured, the sound like gravel. "It only matters how you finish. And from where I'm standing, you're already finished."
He pulled back, gave me one last, sweeping look of disdain, and turned. Just like that. He walked away, his footsteps echoing, leaving me standing there in the middle of the hallway, trembling and utterly alone.
The bell rang, a shrill, mocking sound.
He thought he'd won. He thought he'd broken me.
I unclenched my fists, my palms stinging from the half-moons my nails had left. I took a deep, shuddering breath. The heat of my anger was cooling, hardening into something else. Something solid.
Fine, I thought, watching his retreating back disappear around the corner. Let him play his games.
He wanted to see how I'd finish? I'd just have to surprise him.