A sharp, suffocating dread made Talia Vaughn's voice tremble on every syllable.
"L-let… let go of me…"
No matter how violently she struggled, the person in front of her didn't loosen. Fingers like iron clamped at her throat, locking her in place, leaving her breath thin and ragged.
"I—I was wrong," Talia choked out, panic making her words break apart. "I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have tried to get back at her like that, I really—" Her lungs seized. "Cough—cough…"
…
"Has anyone seen Ginevra?"
Jayna asked the question again and again, each time a little sharper, a little more frantic, as though the sound of her own voice could anchor something slipping away inside her.
Just a moment ago, Ginevra had told her she was fine. That it wasn't a big deal.
But Jayna's fear didn't obey logic. She'd wanted to drag Ginevra straight to the nurse's office anyway—only Phoebe Sinclair had stopped her to ask a few questions, and when Jayna turned back—
Ginevra was gone.
She grabbed the first person she saw. Then the next. Then another.
No one had seen her.
The teachers were busy trying to control the chaos. A boy had already carried Megan Wells out to the nurse. The match had been halted, students buzzing and crowding and arguing in loud, useless knots.
Jayna's unease spread under her skin like cold water.
She searched the gym with her eyes—fast, frantic—and then she saw Rory Bennett.
Class Two's president stood off to the side, face tense, posture stiff in a way that didn't look like ordinary frustration. Her expression was wrong—uneven, unsettled, like she was swallowing something she couldn't admit.
Jayna ran straight to her.
"Rory," Jayna demanded, breathless. "Did you see Ginevra?"
Rory's eyes snapped to Jayna's, wide and anxious. She grabbed Jayna's arm, fingers digging in as if she needed to hold on to someone solid.
"She—she dragged her into the girls' locker room," Rory stammered, lips shaking. "It was terrifying. She looked like a different person, Jayna. Like… like she could actually—"
"The locker room?" Jayna's blood went cold.
Then, under her breath, fierce and furious: "Damn it. I wasn't careful enough."
She spun and sprinted.
The girls' locker room would be nearly empty at this hour. And Ginevra—Ginevra with that trembling left hand, with that terrible quiet in her eyes—could do something that couldn't be undone.
Jayna couldn't let blood happen again.
Not here. Not in a place full of witnesses and rumors and twisted retellings.
"Ginevra!"
Jayna slammed the locker room door open and called her name instinctively, as if speaking it out loud could pull her back from the edge.
Inside, Ginevra sat with her back to the entrance, motionless on a bench. Her dark hair had fallen forward, fringe shadowing her eyes so Jayna couldn't see her expression at all.
And on the floor—
Talia Vaughn.
The girl who had looked so fierce earlier now knelt collapsed on the tile, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. Her face—so carefully made up, so proud—was streaked with tears. She looked as though terror had hollowed her out, leaving only a shaking shell behind.
When Talia heard Jayna's voice, she lifted her head.
Her eyes were dim, ruined—and then, at the sight of Jayna, a desperate light flared as if she'd glimpsed a rope thrown down into a pit.
"Please," Talia sobbed, words tumbling over each other. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—please forgive me, I really am—"
Jayna's brows drew together.
Whatever had happened in here… it had broken Talia cleanly.
Ginevra.
Jayna approached carefully, like stepping toward an animal that had been cornered and didn't know whether to bite. She reached for Ginevra's arm—gentle, slow—and felt how tightly her body was held, how the tension sat in her like a coiled spring.
At Jayna's touch, Ginevra's shoulders loosened a fraction.
Only a fraction.
The violence hadn't fully left her yet. There was still something sharp clinging to her, like a lingering shadow.
Jayna lifted a hand and brushed Ginevra's cheek.
Her skin was cold.
Jayna tilted her face, trying to catch Ginevra's eyes. When Ginevra finally looked up, Jayna saw it—a flash of apology in those lowered lashes, and then Ginevra looked away, as if she couldn't bear being seen like this.
Jayna forced a smile into place, soft and steady, and spoke as if they were in the most ordinary moment in the world.
"Hey," she said, voice warm, casual—guiding. "How about pizza tonight? I'm starving. My stomach's been growling like crazy. Let's go home, okay? Hmm? Sound good?"
Yes.
This was what she had to do.
Not argue. Not question. Not corner.
Just… lead.
Let Ginevra's mind follow hers, one small step at a time.
Ginevra sat in silence for a long while. Then her gaze slid to Talia on the floor.
That look—deep and unreadable—made Talia flinch and bow her head instantly, as if the air itself had turned into a blade.
Ginevra finally spoke.
"Okay."
Jayna's breath eased out, shaky with relief.
She glanced Talia over—hair damp, face ruined, but no obvious injuries. Thank God. She could swallow her fear, keep it buried, keep it from turning into something uglier.
But the sight of Talia's chalk-white face, the way she shook like she'd been dragged back from drowning, stirred Jayna's softer instincts too.
Jayna stepped closer, cautious. "Can you stand?" she asked quietly. "Look… earlier, it was a mess, okay? People got heated. But maybe we… take a step back. Both sides. Can we do that?"
Talia nodded hard, biting her lip, crying as though her tears were the only thing keeping her alive.
Jayna sighed.
She reached out, intending—just instinctively—to help her up.
"Let go."
The voice behind Jayna was ice.
Jayna's hands flew up immediately. "Okay—okay—fine. I won't. I won't help."
She backed away at once, like a child caught touching something she'd been told not to. Then she grabbed Ginevra's hand, tugging—half coaxing, half dragging—until she got her out the door.
Over her shoulder, Jayna called back in a rush, trying to stitch the world back into something less dangerous.
"Hey—Talia, right? It's fine. Really. That was… just people being stupid. She's actually a good person," Jayna said too brightly, too quickly. "She was just messing with you. Don't take it seriously, okay? Please don't tell anyone—let's all just… give each other some grace."
Talia didn't dare respond.
She didn't dare tell anyone, either.
Once Jayna and Ginevra were gone, Talia sank onto the bench, shaking so hard her joints felt loose.
A few minutes earlier, she'd nearly died with her face shoved into the sink.
Ginevra's strength had been overwhelming—crushing—forcing water into her mouth and down her throat until her lungs screamed and her body convulsed in blind terror. She'd never felt anything like it, that sensation of drowning while still standing on her own feet. It had iced her from the inside out, the helplessness so absolute she'd almost passed out.
They were the same height.
Both girls.
And yet Ginevra had pinned her with a dominance so complete it felt inhuman.
The rumors about Ginevra Volkova being mild, quiet, harmless—
Lies.
A mask.
Talia couldn't stop thinking: if Jayna hadn't come when she did… would Ginevra have gone all the way?
Would she have finished it?
…
Jayna kept Ginevra moving.
Out of the gym. Into the open campus air. Past the chatter and the stares.
Ginevra's face was calm again—controlled, cool, almost blank.
But Jayna didn't trust calmness anymore. Not from Ginevra. Not when she'd seen what lived underneath.
Jayna swallowed, throat tight. "If I hadn't come looking for you…" she asked timidly, "would you really have… done something to her?"
Ginevra glanced at her. "No."
It was a clean answer. A clipped one.
Truthfully, Talia hadn't hurt Jayna. And she'd been quick to apologize once she realized she'd miscalculated the danger.
Ginevra only wanted her to remember.
To learn.
To never dare again.
Jayna exhaled, shaky. "You scared me to death." Her eyes dropped to Ginevra's left wrist. Even now it was still red. Jayna's heart pinched with tenderness and worry. "I don't want you getting into trouble because of me. And your hand…" She cradled Ginevra's wrist gently. "Can we go to the nurse just to check?"
Ginevra shook her head. "It's fine."
Jayna knew she couldn't win. So she stayed beside her, stubborn in her softness, and began to massage Ginevra's wrist in slow circles—thumb pressing lightly, palm warm around bone.
"Still… thank God you were there," Jayna murmured, trying to lighten the heaviness. "If that ball had actually come at me, I'd have gotten nailed. You really are a robot. Your reflexes are insane."
She laughed at herself, a small, breathy sound.
Ginevra's brows lifted. "What are you laughing at?"
Jayna stepped behind her and began retying her hair, tightening the ponytail, smoothing the loose strands back into place with careful fingers.
Somehow—without noticing when it started—Jayna had gotten used to doing this. Like it was natural. Like it belonged.
"I'm laughing because," Jayna said, amused, "Calista called you a 'terrorist' once, and honestly? She wasn't wrong."
Ginevra tilted her head slightly, confused. "Why?"
"Because you are," Jayna teased, drawing out the last word, watching Ginevra's stubbornly serious face. "Your grades are terrifying. Your reactions are terrifying. Your fighting skills are terrifying. That's a whole terrorist package. Did you see how scared that Class Two girl was? What did you even say to her?"
Jayna truly couldn't imagine Ginevra threatening someone with words. Ginevra was usually quiet as snowfall.
Ginevra blinked once and didn't answer.
Jayna pouted. "Hiding things from me now? You little closed-mouth bottle…"
She hurried to keep up as Ginevra walked on.
Ahead, Phoebe and the others were coming out of the nurse's office. Jayna quickened her pace and went to ask about Megan.
"She's just a bit anemic," Calista explained, waving a hand like it was no big deal. "Playing too long wore her out. The school nurse gave her some glucose. Ethan's staying with her."
Calista's eyes slid toward Ginevra, asking a silent question: Is she okay?
Jayna shook her head slightly. "She says it's nothing."
Phoebe nodded, exhaling. "Everyone got scared. The teachers were panicking. They didn't want anyone to get hurt."
Phoebe looked at Ginevra, then at Jayna. "Is she alright?"
Jayna's face tightened with awkwardness. Why did everyone keep asking her?
Why didn't they ask Ginevra directly?
Jayna forced a smile and nodded anyway.
Phoebe's tone softened, but her words landed strangely hard. "Take good care of her."
Jayna blinked, confused—but she nodded obediently. "Of course."
Phoebe checked the time. Five minutes until the bell. She still had to report the situation to their homeroom teacher, so she sent everyone back to class for self-study.
Jayna sat at her desk, chin propped in her hand, staring openly at Ginevra as she untied the red headband from her hair.
Why was everyone acting like Jayna was responsible for Ginevra?
Did they… see something?
Did they know that Jayna and Ginevra were close?
The thought made Jayna's mouth split into a wide grin, and she began to giggle to herself, helplessly, like she'd been handed a secret candy.
Ginevra glanced at her without warmth. "You're laughing like a serial killer."
"If you didn't speak," Jayna shot back instantly, "you'd be a painting—eyes like poetry, aura like a lily. But you open your mouth and ruin the mood." She leaned in. "Anyway—exam papers get handed back tomorrow. Do you think the teacher will praise me?"
"Of course she will!" Calista shouted, bursting into the classroom with her backpack already on. She threw her arms around Jayna from behind in an enthusiastic bear hug.
Jayna jolted. "Jesus, Calista—don't scare me like that!"
Ginevra's gaze paused on Calista's hands cinched around Jayna's waist.
She didn't say anything.
Her mouth tightened.
And then she looked down and began packing in silence, neat and self-contained as if she hadn't noticed at all.
Calista released Jayna and grinned. "School's over and you're still chatting. Weren't you the one who promised dinner? I came to catch you. You better not back out."
Jayna peeled Calista's hands off her like removing a stubborn octopus. "You skipped your tutoring for food?"
"My tutor had an emergency," Calista said, entirely unashamed. "I didn't want to skip, obviously. But since you're treating us, it's perfect."
Jayna laughed and stood, slinging her bag on. "Alright, alright. This fairy is buying pizza. There's a place on Kingston Avenue that looks good."
Calista slapped the desk like a judge delivering a sentence. "Gimlet House? You need a reservation. If we go late, there won't be any seats."
Jayna groaned. "Right. I forgot."
"Then I'll go first and grab a table," Calista said immediately. "My driver's outside anyway."
Jayna hesitated. "Or… we go together?"
Calista tilted her chin toward the window. "My car fits. Get in."
Jayna looked at Ginevra, silently checking her expression.
Calista made a gagging noise. "Why are you staring? You two are basically attached at the hip. Stop making eyes and move. Come on, Your Highnesses."
She herded them out like they were slow-moving royalty.
By some miracle, when they arrived, the host told them there was exactly one four-person table left by the window. Everything else was reserved.
Calista and Ginevra sat across from each other. Jayna went to the counter to order, then returned and—without even realizing it—slipped into the seat on Ginevra's left.
Calista glanced at them, lips pursed.
At some point, she'd simply gotten used to this.
Used to how Jayna and Ginevra fit together in a way that didn't feel forced. It was intimate, yes—but oddly natural, like it had always been there.
Jayna looked around. This was her first time here. The restaurant was upscale, the kind of place adults came to for business meetings and quiet dinners. Most tables were filled with well-dressed people speaking in low voices. Three students in school uniforms looked almost out of place—too young, too bright.
Jayna glanced at Ginevra and felt a strange, stubborn satisfaction.
She'd wanted to bring her here.
Partly to celebrate her own progress.
Partly because, no matter what Ginevra thought of herself, she belonged in elegant places. Even in a plain uniform, she carried a kind of restrained grace—as if she'd been born knowing how to sit in candlelight.
"What'd you order?" Calista asked.
"Three sirloin veal steaks," Jayna said, folding her hands and sitting up straighter, unconsciously mimicking Ginevra's posture. "A smoked chicken pizza. And the server recommended a salad platter, so I added that."
Calista's eyes widened. "You're going big. This place is expensive."
"As long as it tastes good," Jayna said lightly. "It's a special day. And my cousin's a member here—I'm using his VIP card."
Calista grinned. "Then we'll gladly cling to your rich-person leg."
She took a sip of lemon water, then glanced across at Ginevra with careful curiosity. "So… Professor Volkova… any secret techniques to share?"
Jayna shot her a look. "Stop it. If you want help, look at my study notes later. They're all the stuff Ginevra gave me."
Calista sipped again, watching them both.
She honestly couldn't figure it out—how Jayna had managed to coax this icy, untouchable genius into something almost… human. Almost warm. Enough to be called a friend.
In the center of the dining room sat a glossy black piano. A server mentioned that on weekends there was a pianist who played live.
Jayna's gaze drifted to it, soft with envy.
"You want to play?" Ginevra asked.
Jayna smiled shyly and shook her head. She wanted to—but the thought of performing in front of so many strangers tightened her throat. Her courage didn't stretch that far.
Not yet.
Soon, the steaks arrived.
Calista stared at her plate like she'd never seen food before. "I'm not holding back," she declared, already cutting.
Jayna pressed her lips together to hide a laugh, then—quietly—looked at Ginevra's left wrist again.
Still pink with bruised redness.
Jayna's chest ached with it.
Without saying anything, she picked up her knife and began to cut her own steak carefully into small, even pieces. Neat. Manageable. Tender bites.
Calista paused mid-cut and stared at her. "What are you doing? You're not even eating."
Jayna set down her utensils and gently pushed her plate toward Ginevra. Then she pulled Ginevra's untouched steak toward herself.
"Feeding the injured," Jayna said, matter-of-fact. "Your wrist still hurts. Don't argue. Phoebe told me to take good care of you."
Ginevra stared at Jayna.
Really stared.
Something flickered in her eyes—something disbelieving, almost fragile, as if she couldn't quite accept that kindness could be so direct.
Jayna smiled at her, warm and simple.
And in Ginevra, something unfamiliar began to spread—slowly, quietly—like warmth seeping into a cold room.
She remembered, with a sudden stab of helplessness, the kiss on her cheek that afternoon.
Her throat tightened.
She dropped her gaze to the plate of carefully cut steak, looking as though she didn't know what to do with this tenderness sitting in front of her.
"Thank you," she said at last.
Her ears flushed pink again. She speared a piece with her fork and ate it in small, careful bites.
"Well?" Jayna asked. "Is it good?"
"It's good," Ginevra answered obediently, like she didn't want to disappoint her.
Jayna's shoulders eased in relief. Only then did she pull her gaze away—the gaze she hadn't even realized had become so gentle.
"If you like it," Jayna said, voice bright, almost casual, "I'll bring you here more often. And I'll always cut it for you too."
Ginevra went still.
Her eyes softened, a faint light washing through them like dawn across snow.
Jayna said these things so easily—without shame, without hiding, as if caring for Ginevra was the most natural thing in the world.
It made Ginevra feel something she'd never had before.
Warmth.
Safety.
A quiet steadiness that made her chest hurt in a way that wasn't pain—
but need.
And the terrifying part was this:
she could already feel herself wanting it again.
She could feel herself—
getting addicted.