Jade's POV
Zion's room was dark, the only light bleeding from the half-cracked bathroom door. The air smelled like his cologne — something sharp and musky, mixed with the faint scent of detergent from the sheets I was tangled in. Zion lay beside me, his fingers trailing mindlessly over my bare shoulder, a restless, uneven pattern.
Usually, this was when we slipped into that quiet, breathless haze, his hands coaxing me back into the space we only made for each other. But tonight, his touch felt distracted, like a question mark pressing into my skin.
I pushed his hand away and rolled to face him. "You're somewhere else tonight."
He sighed, a sound heavy enough to sink. "Jade, I need to talk to you."
I snorted, a soft, mocking laugh. "Now? When I'm here, naked in your bed? What, you want to discuss Plato and Aristotle?"
He didn't laugh. His eyes, dark and serious, stayed on me — the kind of look that made my skin tighten, like he could peel back the parts of me I didn't want anyone to see.
"What's going on between you and Stephen?" he asked quietly.
I sat up, pulling the sheet with me. "Are we really doing this? Again? You stalking my life and getting paranoid over any guy who talks to me?"
"I'm not—" he cut off, his fingers pressing against his forehead like he was holding his thoughts in place. "I'm just saying... be careful."
"Of what, Zion?" I snapped. "Stephen's nice to me. He doesn't treat me like—" I caught myself, my throat tightening. Like a secret. Like something to be ashamed of.
Zion's jaw clenched, his eyes sparking. "Nice, huh? Nice like every guy who smiles and says what you want to hear? Nice like—"
"Don't start," I warned. The anger was quick, flaring hot and reckless. "You think every guy who shows me a bit of decency wants to screw me over?"
His silence was worse than an argument. His gaze fell away, heavy and reluctant.
"Not everyone is out to get me, Zion," I muttered. "Not everyone is you."
His fingers curled into the sheets, the knuckles pale and strained. I should have stopped there, let it slide away, but something bitter and sharp was caught in my chest.
"Stephen is just my friend," I insisted. "He listens, he—"
"Listens," Zion echoed, the word tight in his throat. "Yeah, I'm sure he listens. Just... don't tell him everything, Jade. Just don't."
I stared at him, the ache in his voice twisting through me. But my pride wouldn't let me fold. Not now. Not with him looking at me like I was a wound he couldn't keep from reopening.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Zion ran a hand over his face, the tension written in his frown. "It means some smiles are just teeth bared in waiting."
I wanted to laugh, but the sound stuck in my throat. Zion always had a way of speaking in riddles when he wanted to avoid a direct answer. It used to feel poetic. Now it just felt like deflection.
"Whatever, Zion. If you have something to say, just say it."
He looked at me then, a look that felt like a last attempt, a frayed line between us. "Just... promise me you'll be careful."
I didn't. I couldn't. Instead, I leaned back into the sheets, pulling the covers to my chest, a fortress between us. The silence that followed was thick, impenetrable. I could feel Zion watching me, his gaze heavy and unreadable, but I refused to meet it.
We lay like that for a long time — quiet, untouchable, a wall between us I didn't know how to tear down.
______________________________________
Zion's POV
Zion sat at his desk, fingers drumming against the edge of his laptop. Dayo's latest text blinked on his phone screen, cryptic as ever:
"Final show loading. Cast your eye, but don't blink. Evidence choke."
His first instinct was to ignore it — another of Dayo's riddles. But something clawed at him. The last time he brushed off Dayo's warnings, he'd spent days piecing together the twisted truth. The memory of Jade's blank eyes in that video twisted his gut.
Since Extasy Drift, he had kept his distance — from Stephen. Watching from afar, trying to fit the pieces together. But now it felt like time was running out.
A notification pinged on his phone. An Instagram story — Stephen's profile. Zion clicked on it instinctively. The video showed Stephen, his face half-shadowed by dim neon lights, clinking glasses with a few guys. Lucas's face flashed briefly — grinning, smug. The caption read:
"Setting the stage. One last act."
Zion's chest tightened. One last act. The phrasing echoed Dayo's text. His fingers trembled slightly as he typed a quick message to Dayo:
"What's happening? What show?"
Dayo's reply was immediate, but maddeningly vague:
"A rose in the lion's den. Some laughs are fangs flashing. Eyes open, soldier."
Zion cursed under his breath. Jade was the rose. Stephen and Lucas — the lions.
He sank into his chair, mind racing. If this was the "final show," then it had to be something big, something final. A spectacle. His gaze fell on the old, crumpled flyer on his desk — an invite to an exclusive party. Extasy Drift. It was an end-of-semester blowout, the kind where nobody cared who you were or what you did, as long as the drinks flowed. Jade had mentioned it briefly, almost dismissively, but Stephen had insisted.
His phone buzzed again. Another Instagram post from Stephen — a repost of the flyer, tagged: "Tonight. Let's make it legendary."
Zion's stomach dropped. This was it. The "finale." Stephen was going to do it again — trap her, drug her, violate her, and record it. Just like Lucas had.
His mind scrambled, a dozen thoughts tangling. How did he stop it? Who could he tell? How could he warn Jade when she already thought he was just being possessive and paranoid?
Zion stood abruptly, snatching his jacket. He needed to find Jade — now. He wouldn't let this happen again. Not to her. Not when he could stop it.