Zara sat in the back of homeroom, still shaken.
She kept running the moment over and over in her head how fast the car came, how loud the tires screeched, how Jaxon had barely blinked. Like he didn't care whether he lived or died. Or maybe he just expected the world to move for him.
People whispered when she walked in. Some stared outright. One girl even stopped mid-conversation, eyes wide, before muttering something to her friend with a sharp glance Zara's way.
So much for blending in.
Her seat creaked as she sat down, keeping her eyes low. First day, and she'd already made an entrance. Perfect.
When the teacher, Ms. Crowley, walked in and started calling names, Zara tried to focus on the list. She wanted to disappear just be another name, another face, nothing to see here. But fate, clearly, wasn't done playing games.
"…Jaxon Blackwood," Ms. Crowley said.
Silence.
Then the door opened.
And he walked in.
Every eye in the room followed him as he moved wounded lip, tousled hair, backpack slung low like he didn't care where he was or what he was doing. He wore defiance like a jacket. And when he walked past Zara's desk, he slowed. Just for a second.
She didn't look up. Didn't need to look up. She could feel the heat of his stare on her.
He took the seat two rows over, slouched back, and propped his feet on the desk like he owned the place.
Ms. Crowley didn't even blink.
"Feet off the desk, Mr. Blackwood," she said calmly.
Jaxon didn't move.
The class tensed, watching.
"Now," she added, voice sharper.
With an exaggerated sigh, Jaxon lowered his feet and leaned back in his chair like he was doing her a favor.
Zara turned to the window. This was a different universe. One where people like him broke rules and never paid for it. Where names like "Blackwood" opened doors, silenced teachers, and apparently walked away from almost being killed without a scratch.
Or gratitude.
She didn't want anything to do with him.
So of course, he showed up at her locker after class.
"Hey."
She jumped, spinning around to find him leaning against the wall like a scene from a bad teen drama.
"You again?" she said flatly.
"I didn't say thank you."
She blinked. "And that's… bothering you?"
He smirked. "Just tying up loose ends."
"Well," she said, closing her locker, "consider them tied."
"Wait." He stepped in front of her. Not too close. Just enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. "You don't know what you got yourself into back there."
She narrowed her eyes. "Is that a threat?"
"No. It's a warning."
Something shifted in his voice. Something real.
Zara studied him. There was a flicker of tension in his jaw. A shadow in his gaze. For a second, he didn't look like the arrogant, smirking rich boy everyone whispered about. He looked like someone afraid.
"I didn't ask for this," she said softly.
"I didn't either," he replied. "But now you're in it."
She opened her mouth to reply, but he was already gone, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost.