THE HUNTER .

---

I bite my nail, a nervous habit I try to choke down but fail miserably at. My teeth scrape against the rough edge, the sting grounding me. Maybe that's why-maybe it's just a dream. That's why there's no record. It's all in my head. Some sick joke my brain's playing on me, twisting reality when I'm half-asleep or losing my grip.

Before I can sink any deeper into that terrifying thought, Shadin's fingers curl around my hand, his touch firm but gentle.

"Don't bite your nails, baby," he says, voice low, teasing.

I'm about to kick him. Like, hard. But before I can even shift my leg, a sound cuts through the thick air between us.

A voice. Clear, sharp, and instantly recognizable.

"Seriously, you have to see him today. I'm telling you, Shadin is like-ugh-unreal."

I freeze. Shadin's hand tightens on mine. I barely breathe.

"Fuck," I whisper.

"Cassandra," he mutters under his breath.

From behind us, the corridor hums with the unmistakable clack of heels on marble, the soft rustle of expensive fabric, and the subtle but unmistakable scent of smoke curling in the air-something fruity and toxic that immediately makes my throat tighten.

Cassandra Monroe. Blonde hair like sunshine spilling over her shoulders, eyes sharp with obsession, lips always curled in that fake sweet smile that hides a whole fucking war inside. She's like a shadow that won't leave Shadin alone. The girl stalks him the way some women stalk rare diamonds. She's been watching him since forever, and god, does she want him.

I glance at Shadin. His jaw tightens. Calm, but razor-sharp. Unbothered, yes-but I know that's all armor. The real war's behind those cold eyes.

The corridor is luxurious-gleaming marble floors that swallow sound, glass walls that reflect every detail in a thousand directions, polished steel railings that gleam under soft white lights. It's one of those buildings where everything feels too pristine, too controlled. Where secrets are hidden just beneath the shiny surface.

Cassandra's voice breaks the silence again. "I swear, last night I touched myself just thinking about him. Like, I couldn't help it. It's disgusting, but I can't stop. He's like... poison I want to drink."

Her friend giggles, a high, breathy sound. "Girl, you're crazy. But I get it. He's hot as hell."

My stomach twists, a sharp pang of disgust mixing with something darker, something I'm not ready to name.

Before I can say anything, Shadin pulls me back behind the nearest classroom pillar-a massive, square monolith of polished concrete that feels cold and unforgiving under my back.

He clamps a hand over my mouth, his fingers strong and steady. His chest presses against mine, heat radiating, heartbeat steady but quickening.

Our eyes lock.

I see everything in his gaze-the warning, the focus, the unspoken promise of trouble if I make a sound.

The hallway's glow glints off his dark eyes, turning them black and bottomless. For a moment, I forget the fear. I forget the tension. All I feel is the pull-magnetic, dangerous, almost too much.

Behind us, the girls' conversation floats closer.

"I don't care who he is, you know?" Cassandra's voice drops, venomous and raw. "I want him. More than anyone."

Her friend asks, "You know who he is, right?"

"Of course I do," Cassandra says, breath heavy with smoke. "That's what makes it so deliciously impossible. But if he wasn't with her... I'd make him mine in a heartbeat. I fucking hate her. No idea why he only talks to her in this whole damn campus. She's nothing."

Her friend laughs, low and cruel. "She's pretty, though."

"Pretty? Pretty my ass," Cassandra snaps, the smoke curling from her mouth like a serpent's hiss. "Not on my level. She only wears those baggy-ass outfits like she's ashamed of her body. Like she's hiding from the world, but I'm not. I'm not afraid to show what I want."

I press my cheek against the pillar, tasting cold stone, smelling cigarette smoke mixed with the faintest hint of her perfume-cheap and sharp.

The tension hangs thick like fog. I can almost feel Shadin's muscles tense against me, a predator ready to strike, but his face stays calm-unbothered, unreadable.

I swallow a bitter lump. I want to say something. To shout, to throw myself in front of him. But I'm frozen by the rawness of it all.

"Did you hear that?" I whisper through Shadin's fingers, voice trembling.

He just smirks. "Yeah."

A slow, dangerous curl of his lips. "Jealous much?"

I want to kick him again.

"You should be," I growl.

His eyes flick to mine, sharp and teasing. "I'm always jealous. But don't get it twisted-I'm not the one who's talking about touching me in the middle of the fucking day."

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing-and from yelling.

I glance back at the girls.

Cassandra is pacing now, cigarette between fingers, flicking ash with manic energy.

"I don't care if she's pretty. She's boring. She's safe. And that's not what he wants. He wants fire."

Her friend nods, eyes wide. "Fire is dangerous. You sure you want to play with that?"

"Dangerous is exactly what I want," Cassandra says, voice low, hungry. "I'm not here to play safe. I'm here to win."

The smoke curls upward, making the air hazy, suffocating.

I want to shove the whole fucking cigarette into her mouth.

Shadin's breath brushes against my ear.

"Want to go make some fire of our own?" he whispers, voice rough and low, the ghost of a smirk in his tone.

I jerk away, heart racing, trying to pretend I'm not caught in the heat of it all.

"Don't fuck with me," I snap. "I'm still pissed about last night."

He laughs quietly, eyes never leaving mine.

"That's my favorite mood."

I glare.

"I hate you."

His smirk deepens, dark and electric.

"That's okay. I like you better when you're pissed."

I bite my lip, fight the strange flicker inside me that wants to lean in and see if maybe... maybe this twisted dance could be something more.

But I push it down.

Hard.

Because while his eyes are calm now, I know there's a storm beneath them.

And I'm not ready to drown.

The girls' voices fade into the distance.

Shadin pulls me a little closer, just enough that I can feel the heat between us.

"Let's get out of here," he says. "Before she decides to 'win' by making a scene."

I nod, still catching my breath.

As we slip away down the glossy marble halls, I can't stop thinking:

Who's really watching?

Who's really playing?

And why the hell am I the one caught in the middle of all this?

---

We're finally out the other side of the building, the echo of Cassandra's voice still scraping down my spine like nails on a chalkboard. I don't even realize I'm walking fast until Shadin tugs my arm, slowing me down like he's on a stroll and I'm in a fucking crime scene.

I yank my arm free.

"God," I groan, dragging both hands down my face. "Why is my life this level of a mess?"

He raises an eyebrow, eyes glittering with something between amusement and I-told-you-so.

"I could ask the same," he says, deadpan. "Why am I in your mess?"

"You?" I snort, loud and ugly. "Bro. You pulled me into your mess. I didn't sign up for psycho Barbie jerking off to your imaginary abs."

He smirks like I complimented him.

"You think I've got imaginary abs?"

"Shut the fuck up, Shadin."

He chuckles, still annoyingly relaxed. Like we didn't just escape a girl who fantasizes about licking his teeth or whatever the fuck Cassandra dreams about. I keep walking, half-talking to myself now.

"She really thinks I like you," I mumble, stomach twisting. "That's the hilarious part."

His voice is casual behind me. "So you don't?"

I spin around so fast he nearly walks into me.

"No! Fucking-no. I don't like any of the men on this damn planet."

He lifts a brow, eyes scanning my face like he's reading too far between the lines. "So you're into girls?"

I glare. "I'm into nobody. Just me. I'm the only person I trust not to be a dumbass."

He shrugs. "Fair. She can think what she wants."

"'She can think-' Did you hear her?" I stab a finger toward the building. "She touched herself for you, dude. You. What kind of-ew! Ew!-what the hell kind of messed-up fanfic is that?"

He tilts his head, smiling slow. "Would you?"

My brain short-circuits.

"Would I what?"

"Touch yourself for me."

I kick him. Hard. Right in the shin.

"Fucking die. I'm not your blonde bitch."

He winces dramatically, clutching his leg. "Ow. Abuse."

"You deserve worse. Psychological warfare. Emotional trauma. Public execution."

"Bold threats coming from someone who literally just said they don't like anyone."

"I don't. Especially not guys who smirk like they've got goddamn secrets tattooed under their skin."

"You think I have secrets?"

I roll my eyes and keep walking. He follows me like he's got nothing better to do, like I'm the one giving him entertainment on this cursed Tuesday morning. I pull my hoodie sleeves down and mutter, "God, why am I always in this shit?"

"Because you love it," he says, tone smooth as sin.

"I hate you."

"Sure."

"I do."

"Okay."

"And this isn't a thing," I say, spinning to jab a finger in his chest. "Whatever's going on in your weird flirty brain-it's not a thing. This is just... two people. Being people."

He stares down at me. Too quiet. Too still.

"Got it," he finally says.

I turn and walk off, ignoring how heavy my heartbeat is.

Not from him.

Not from anything.

Just nerves.

Just me. Being me.

"So what if you actually like someone?" he asks, voice weirdly quiet. Not teasing. Not smirking. Just... there.

I stop walking.

Like my brain stutters.

Then I scoff. Hard. "It won't be you, that's for fucking sure."

He tilts his head. Doesn't blink. "Why not?"

I give him a look. A long, judgmental, soul-crushing, what-kind-of-drug-are-you-on look.

Then I drop down onto the bench nearby like the whole conversation's too heavy for my bones. I stare straight ahead. Can't look at him.

"If I like someone..." I start, slow, picking at the threads of my sleeve. "He'd have to be unreal."

I feel him lean against the wall beside the bench, just listening.

"Like-not just hot. Not just smart. Something else. Something no one else has. Something that makes my ribs hurt when I breathe around him. Like he's a fucking phantom, you know? Unreachable. Impossible. I'd have to want him so bad it ruins me."

He laughs, soft and dry. "So basically... a fictional man."

"Exactly," I say, snapping my fingers at him. "Thank you. Finally someone gets it."

He shrugs. "So you die single."

I glance up at him. "Rather be single than settle for the human equivalent of a soggy towel."

"Damn." He taps his chest. "I felt that."

"Good. It was meant to burn."

He watches me. Not saying anything. Just standing there with that unreadable face he wears like armor. His voice comes low after a beat, too smooth. "So no one on this earth qualifies? Not even close?"

"Nope." I stand again. Wipe my palms down my thighs. "I've met people. All of them disappoint me."

"You ever thought maybe your standards are just-" He raises a brow, smirking. "I don't know-impossible?"

"Exactly. That's the whole point, Einstein." I roll my eyes. "I don't want a real person. Real people cheat and lie and breathe with their mouths open. I want someone who doesn't exist."

Shadin exhales, almost a laugh, but not really. "You're such a mess."

"

"Pot, meet kettle," I mutter under my breath as I stretch my legs across the bench, boots scraping the concrete.

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that why you don't date anyone?"

I glance at him sideways. "I don't know. Maybe," I shrug. "Maybe I just didn't meet anyone I actually want."

He studies me, too quietly. "What if you do?"

I snort. "I won't."

"Why?"

"Because," I say, turning my head, eyes locked on the skyline like it holds all the goddamn answers. 

"No one's ever like that. No one's... unreal."

He doesn't say anything, so I go on, like I've been waiting for someone to just shut up and let me say this out loud.

"My standard's not just high, Shadin. It's a fucking skyscraper. You think I'm gonna crush on some dude 'cause he's got a six-pack and a Spotify premium account?"

I turn my head to look at him now.

"No. I want something that breaks me. Someone who can see through me even when I'm hiding behind ten thousand locked doors. Someone who doesn't flinch when I show them the mess."

"You want a god."

"I want someone impossible," I say. "And I'm not settling for less. I'd rather die single with my cat than waste time with men who think I should be grateful they texted back."

He laughs softly. Not mocking. Almost... fond?

"What about you?" I say. "What's your type?"

He looks at me for a beat. Like really looks.

His voice dips, low and smooth and with this weird little curve. 

"Messy. Mouthy. Doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks. Smart enough to cut a guy with just words. Wears baggy hoodies like she's hiding weapons underneath. Curses too much. Bites her nails. Doesn't take compliments well. Argues like she's being paid for it. Doesn't know how fucking beautiful she is."

I frown a little. Not suspicious, just... confused. "That's real specific."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Guess I've thought about it too much."

I pull my hoodie over my mouth like I can disappear inside it. "Your dream girl sounds like a pain in the ass."

He shrugs. "That's the point."

I laugh. "Good luck with that, Romeo."

He smirks. "You too, Juliet."

I glare at him. "Don't call me that."

"Noted." He kicks the toe of my boot, grin sharp and lazy. "But you know, if you ever meet that 'unreal' guy, you better warn him."

"Why?"

"Because you'll destroy him," he says without missing a beat.

Something in my stomach drops. Just for a second. Then I snort and look away like I didn't feel anything at all.

"Whatever, dramatic ass."

He doesn't say anything after that. Just sits there next to me in the silence he carved.

And I don't know why the air feels heavier. I don't know why my heart is beating like it's remembering something I haven't lived yet.