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POV: Ava Carter
By Tuesday, I decided it wasn't worth it.
The glances. The what-ifs. The stupid ache in my chest every time our eyes met across a room we used to own.
If Jace was done pretending like he can't see me or I mattered, so was I.
I started dressing like I wasn't thinking about him—messy buns, oversized hoodies, headphones in even when nothing was playing. I told myself I was done waiting for conversations that wouldn't happen.
And for a while, it worked.
Until fourth period chemistry.
Because of course it was chemistry.
I was already dreading the class, what with the smell of acetone and the ghost of first-week banter still lingering between the lab tables. The substitute teacher handed out a surprise quiz and left us to pair up.
I turned to Layla, ready to claim her, but she was already sliding into a spot with Ash, mouthing sorry with apologetic eyes.
I turned again—and locked eyes with Jace.
We both paused.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Looked away.
But then he looked away too, and for some reason, that stung more.
So I found the only open seat left.
Across from Emily.
Perfect.
She raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Just slid a paper toward me and started writing. Like we were still friends. Like she hadn't betrayed me three years ago over something as stupid as a flash drive.
I gritted my teeth and focused on the quiz.
But the universe clearly had other plans.
Because midway through writing my answer to question five, my pen exploded.
Not burst into flames exploded, but ink everywhere, panic-level smearing exploded. It splattered all over the page, my hands, and the edge of Emily's arm.
"Seriously?" she snapped, jerking back.
"I didn't do it on purpose," I muttered, trying to wipe my fingers on a tissue that only made it worse.
She huffed dramatically and turned to the sub, who was already on her way over.
And then I felt it.
That horrible, traitorous tightening in my throat. The kind that never came when I was being insulted or challenged—but always when I felt small.
I hated it.
The sub leaned over with a frown. "You okay?"
I nodded too fast. "Fine."
But my vision was blurring, and I couldn't breathe right, and suddenly the walls felt closer than they should've been.
I stood. Mumbled something about needing air. Bolted.
Out of the classroom. Down the hallway. Around the corner until I was safely out of sight, in the space between the janitor's closet and the stairwell. My hands were still shaking. I pressed them to the cold tile wall, trying to calm the hurricane spinning inside my ribs.
I didn't even hear him approach.
"Hey."
I froze.
Turned.
Jace.
He was standing a few feet away, holding out a pack of tissues like it was a peace offering. His eyes were cautious but soft.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low.
I laughed—sharp and humorless. "You don't get to ask me that."
His jaw flexed. "I know."
I didn't take the tissues.
We stood there in thick, uncomfortable silence.
Finally, he said, "Your pen exploded."
"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock."
A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. "It was kind of impressive. Like a crime scene, but with ink."
Despite myself, I snorted.
He stepped closer, slow like he thought I might bolt again. "You didn't look okay in there."
I shrugged, hugging myself. "Guess I'm just dramatic."
"I don't think that's it."
I didn't answer.
He handed me the tissues again. This time, I took them.
We stood in the hallway while I wiped my hands clean, and he didn't say anything else until I looked up.
"What happened to us,like why the argument, quarrels?" I whispered.
His brows furrowed. "You tell me."
And there it was—between us, unspoken and loud: the pain, the confusion, the stuff we never said when it mattered.
"I thought… you didn't want to argue with me anymore," I admitted.
"I thought you didn't."
Another silence.
Then: "So what now?"
I didn't know. I wasn't ready to forgive. Wasn't even sure what needed forgiving. But I also wasn't ready to go back to being strangers.
"Maybe we stop pretending we don't exist," I said quietly.
He nodded. "I can do that."
A pause. A breath.
"Thanks… for coming after me," I added.
His eyes met mine, and for the first time in days, they didn't look past me.
"Always."
And just like that, the silence between us cracked.
Not shattered.
But cracked enough to let something in.
Maybe hope.
Maybe us.
Maybe both.
---
We didn't shake hands. Didn't touch. Didn't say sorry, because neither of us knew who owed it first.
But we also didn't walk away.
And that felt like something.
"I still think you're annoying," I muttered, stuffing the inky tissue into my pocket.
His smirk returned. "Good. I'd be worried if you didn't."
I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched.
He shifted his weight. "Come on. Before the sub reports you missing and they send out a search party."
"Wouldn't want to ruin your reputation by being seen with me," I said as I stepped forward.
His voice was quieter this time. "It's already ruined."
And weirdly, I didn't hate hearing that.
We walked back together—two former allies turned something else. Not friends. Not yet.
But maybe no longer enemies either.
---
He didn't move when I took a shaky breath and leaned my back against the wall again. I could feel his eyes on me, studying the pieces I was trying so hard to keep from falling apart.
"You don't have to act like you care," I said, voice quieter now. "It's not part of the project."
"I'm not here because of the project."
That stopped me.
I looked at him, really looked—past the sarcasm and sharp edges, to the boy who used to make me do crazy things in the back row of homeroom, who once dared me to climb on the roof of the science building because I said I wasn't scared of heights.
"You're hard to hate, you know that?" I said.
He smiled faintly. "You make it look easy."
I almost smiled too.
Almost.
---
I wiped my fingers again, slower this time, stalling.
"You don't get to act like you care," I said again, quieter now but sharper.
He raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure I said that already."
I shot him a look. "Then why are you still here?"
He shrugged. "Morbid curiosity."
That earned him a glare. Classic Jace—always had to get the last word, even in a moment like this.
"You know," I said, folding my arms, "for someone who's spent most of his life trying to make mine hell, you're really bad at staying in your lane."
"Yeah? And for someone who calls me the worst thing that's ever happened to this school, you sure look like you're about to cry because of a pen."
My mouth fell open. "Wow. You are actually the worst."
He held up his hands like I'd proven his point.
We stared at each other—same way we had since we were nine and competing over spelling bees and science fairs and who could raise their hand faster. Same electric, infuriating tension.
But this time, something cracked under it.
Not soft. Not sweet.
Just… real.
I hated that he saw me like this. I hated even more that he wasn't using it as ammunition.
"Just—go," I said, turning away.
But his voice stopped me. "I didn't come to fight, Ava."
That was new.
Unsettling.
Because fighting was the only thing we'd ever been good at.
And now I wasn't sure what came next