Zara stared at the note like it might catch fire in her hand.
The handwriting was sharp, clean, deliberate. Almost too perfect. No signature. No clue. Just that one, chilling sentence.
She read it again.
"You should've walked away when you had the chance."
Her first instinct was to laugh nervously. Maybe it was a stupid prank. Some rich kid's idea of fun. But then she remembered Jaxon's voice, low and serious, echoing in her head.
"You don't know what you got yourself into."
She swallowed hard.
Sliding the note into her desk drawer, she double-locked her dorm room and tried not to let her hands shake. She wouldn't let this scare her off. She couldn't. She was here for a reason. To make something of herself. To rise above all the noise and the doubt.
But still…
The next morning, Zara took the long way around the courtyard, avoiding the student parking lot. She kept her headphones in, music blasting, trying to focus on anything that wasn't a cryptic threat or a certain smug boy with steel-gray eyes.
No such luck.
Because when she opened her locker, a folded piece of paper fluttered out.
Not again.
She bent to pick it up only to see it was something else this time. A printed photo.
Of her. And Jaxon. On the ground. The moment after she tackled him.
Someone had snapped the picture from a distance, blurry but clear enough to see their faces. Her expression panicked. His furious.
On the back, written in the same bold ink:
"Wrong place. Wrong time. Stay out of it."
Her stomach twisted.
She turned sharply and slammed right into someone.
"Whoa," a voice said, steadying her. "Easy there, killer."
Of course.
Jaxon.
She took a step back like his touch burned.
He looked amused, as always. "You okay? Or are you planning to body-slam someone else today?"
"I'm fine," she snapped, stuffing the paper in her bag.
"You sure? You look like you saw a ghost."
"Maybe I did."
He narrowed his eyes, catching the edge in her tone. "Did something happen?"
"Nope," she said, brushing past him. "Nothing I can't handle."
But Jaxon grabbed her wrist gently, but firm. "Zara."
She paused. The way he said her name it wasn't teasing. It wasn't arrogant. It was… careful.
"Talk to me," he said.
She looked up at him, lips tight. "Why would I? So you can lie to me again?"
He blinked. "When did I?"
"You said it was nothing. That the car would stop. That I didn't need to get involved."
"I meant it."
"Then why am I getting threat notes, Jaxon?"
His expression changed in an instant. Gone was the smirk. The easy confidence. He looked… angry.
"What kind of notes?"
"Doesn't matter," she said. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
He exhaled slowly. "You should've."
Zara stepped back, eyes hard. "I may not come from money or fancy bloodlines, but I'm not afraid of you. Or whatever drama you've dragged me into."
"You should be," Jaxon muttered.
And for the first time, it didn't sound like a threat.
It sounded like regret