"It has to do with level of insanity." I push off from the locker, enjoying the way they all take half-steps backward despite themselves. "And thankfully, I fall in the line of crazy."
My hand finds the handle of my bag.
Pulls it out.
Reaches inside.
"So unless you want me to make all of you lose some screws—" my fingers close around the familiar weight of my blades, sliding them from the bag with practiced ease, "—so you have a chance with them, I suggest you pull out."
Their eyes go wide.
Tracking the weapons.
Calculating the threat.
"School is over," I add, sliding the blades into their sheaths at my back. The weight is comforting—familiar—the particular security that comes from being armed. "We can just take this outside if you want."
No one moves.
No one speaks.
The silence stretches—thick with tension and the particular kind of fear that comes from realizing you've picked a fight you can't win.
"That's what I thought."
I close my locker.
Adjust my bag on my shoulder.
And walk toward the exit like they're not even there.
"I won't even be here by the end of the week," I throw over my shoulder, not bothering to look back. "So take your jealousy and shove it somewhere the sun doesn't shine. I hear it's roomy."
The door swings open.
I step through.
And stop.
Because Sage is there.
Leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed over his chest, pink hair catching the fluorescent light of the corridor. He's changed back into his regular clothes—dark jeans, a fittedshirt that shows off the lean muscle of his arms—and he looks like something out of a magazine.
Or a fever dream.
Or both.
"I thought I'd have to come inside," he says, pushing off from the wall. His green-gold eyes scan my face, cataloguing details, checking for damage. "Heard raised voices."
"I could handle myself."
The words come out defensive.
Automatic.
Three years of proving I don't need anyone has made independence my default setting—the knee-jerk insistence that I'm fine, that I don't need help, that I can survive anything on my own.
Even when I'm starting to suspect that's not entirely true.
