Prologue —
Alora's POV
Hallways weren't supposed to feel like cages.
Mine did that morning.
I heard the footsteps first. Slow, measured, deliberate. No one moved that way unless they wanted to be noticed—or wanted to intimidate. My pulse quickened, but I tried to ignore it. My feet moved forward, bag heavy on one shoulder, heart heavy on another.
Then he was there.
Kieran Black.
Not the type of boy you forgot the moment he passed, but the type who makes the air bend toward him, who makes the walls shrink and the world feel just a little too small. He didn't rush. He didn't glare. He just stood. And the space around him… it changed.
I froze.
He stepped closer. My instinct screamed at me to move—but the wall was behind me, cold and unyielding, and my path forward was gone. That was his first advantage.
Then his hands came up. One on each side of my head. Not a touch, not gentle. A blockade. A silent claim. The hallway narrowed, my back pressed to the unforgiving concrete. Every breath I took was sharp and shallow. The smell of him—cologne, sweat, and something metallic—hit me like a warning siren.
I swallowed.
"Move," I said. Sharp. Edgy. Full of adrenaline I didn't have the luxury to waste.
He didn't. He leaned in, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to taste the threat in his silence. His eyes were unreadable, but there was a darkness in them I understood instinctively. This wasn't a boy who liked trouble. This was a boy who was trouble. Lived in it. Wore it like armor.
«Спокойно, солнышко.»
"Easy, sunshine."
"You don't look afraid," he said, voice low and deliberate. Calm. Like a predator testing the perimeter before the kill.
I laughed, brittle and sharp. "Congratulations. You're bad at reading people."
He tilted his head slightly, just enough to make me question whether that was amusement or calculation. «Я давно тебя заметил.»
"I noticed you a long time ago."
"You think you're invisible. You think I wouldn't notice. You're wrong."
I could feel the weight of him, not just his body, but his presence, pressing down on me. My chest tightened, stomach knotted, and my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I wanted to push him. To scream. To disappear. I did none of those things. Sometimes survival isn't about acting—it's about waiting, breathing, keeping your eyes wide open while the danger studies you like a puzzle.
And he was studying me.
"I like that you're loud," he whispered, leaning closer, so close my shoulder brushed against his chest. "It makes it… more interesting when you don't scream."
I wanted to throw up. I wanted to run. I wanted to pretend this wasn't happening.
The first bell rang. Shattering. Merciless. Like it was mocking both of us. Noise rushed back into the hallway—footsteps, chatter, lockers slamming—but Kieran didn't flinch. He didn't move. Not until I blinked, and the moment cracked.
Then he stepped back, hands dropping, expression smoothing into something almost human. Almost.
«Мы ещё поговорим, солнышко.»
"We'll talk again, sunshine."
And then he disappeared into the crowd.
I stayed pressed to the wall long after, fingers clawing at my bag strap, legs trembling like the world had shifted without permission. The hallway had returned to normal, but I hadn't.
That's when I realized: some people don't announce themselves. They just arrive. And once they do… there's no going back.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I didn't move.
I only understood one terrifying thing:
Kieran Black wasn't just dangerous.
He was darkness made deliberate.
And I'd just stepped into it.