He’s the one I need to follow.
I pick up my pace, cutting across the grass to close the distance. He’s moving fast, and I’m terrified I’m going to lose him.
I round the corner of the arts building, trying to keep up—
And slam into someone.
Hard.
The impact knocks the air out of my lungs. I stumble, arms flailing, and use the brick wall to catch myself before I hit the ground.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” I gasp, trying to steady myself. “I—”
I look up.
And freeze.
It’s him.
He’s standing almost a foot taller than me, shoulders filling the space, blocking out the light. His hood is pushed back now, and I can see his face clearly for the first time.
Mute gray eyes stare down at me. Unblinking. Cold.
There’s a scar cutting through his left eyebrow, another along his jawline. Tattoos peek out from the collar of his hoodie—black ink, sharp lines. And his eyes... they have a glint in them that screamsviolence.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches me with the kind of stillness that makes prey freeze.
“Can I help you?” His voice is flat. Bored.
“Oh... uh...” My brain short-circuits. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. What the fuck am I going to say? What’s my excuse?
“You’ve been following me.”
It’s not a question.
I glare at him, trying to find my voice. Trying to findanythingthat resembles courage. I have to say something… anything… but I don’t know what.
“You’re not denying it,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “So what is it that you want?”
My heart races. I can feel the pulse in my neck, can hear the blood rushing in my ears. He looks even more dangerous up close. The scars, the tattoos, the way he stands like he’s daring me to run.
“How bad is it?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
He raises an eyebrow. “Is what?”
“You know what.”
He stares down at me, and my stomach flips.
Those eyes make something twist inside me. Not fear. Something worse. Something that makes me think I can possibly hook my claws into him if I play this right. Get him to back off Axel.
We stare at each other for a long moment. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.
“It’s none of your business,” he finally says.
I shake my head. “It is my business.”
“You want to make it your business?”
