“Hm?” he hums, his breath reeking of smoke and sin. “The resemblance really is uncanny.” His smile, though, terrifies me to the core.
Is he talking about my brother? My father? He must be.
Just as quickly as his eyes soften, they turn manic again. Although, I’m almost positive they were never soft in the first place. His fingers trail across my face, first gentle, then increasingly harsh, the more pressure he adds. “Wasteful. I think,” he hisses, his words laced with a twisted satisfaction.
I’m shocked for a moment, but I don’t get time to dwell on it because he releases me suddenly, shoving me back against the lockers with a force that rattles the metal. The impact stings, but I don’t flinch. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. My chest heaves as I glare up at him. “You’re terrible. All of you are,” I say, my voice trembling but loud enough to be heard.
He smiles again, wider this time, a grin that reveals nothing but malice. “Your family’s all the same. Pity,” he sneers.
And then he’s gone, sauntering away as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just leave me shaken and broken against the lockers. And the moment he’s out of sight, I sink to the floor, my legs giving out beneath me, and let out a shaky breath. The air feels heavier, the walls closer.
How dare he speak about my family like that?He has no idea what he’s talking about.
I hate him.
I hate his friends.
And yet, I’m going to have to walk into that caféteria with my head up and forget everything that’s happened.
But something did happen.
Will had showcased the proof to me. The necklace. The ring. It all makes sense now.
Will Carson is Kym’s brother.
***
The lunch hall is filled with restless voices, blending together in a monotonous noise as they pile over each other. The clink of trays, the scraping of chairs… yes, a typical school atmosphere. If it weren’t for the extra extravagant chandeliers currently hanging above me, of course.
I weave through the crowd, my phone clutched in one hand. A message from Lilia lights up the screen, directing me to the corner table on the left. Relief blooms in my chest when I spot Bea and Lilia already seated, waving me over with friendly smiles.
“Hey,” I greet them, sliding into a seat. The tension that’s been knotted tight all morning eases a little in their presence, and for the first time in hours, I can breathe.
“Hi!” they chorus back in unison, but before either of them can say more, their attention flicks toward the other side of the room.
A ripple of noise cuts through the hall, and I turn my head just in time to catch a taller, broad-shouldered, boy towering over a shorter girl I immediately recognize as Paris, a scowl on his face. His voice is low enough that I can’t make out what he’s saying, but whatever it is, it makes Paris draw back slightly, her brows furrowing, mouth tight. She mutters something in return, chin high.
The boy steps closer.
His voice grows louder, angrier, reverberating off the walls. Paris’s eyes widen in something I can only identify as disgust, but she doesn’t move away.
For a split second, I think he might actually lunge.
But then, the air shifts.
The doors to the hall swing open and in walks someone who, without doing anything at all, stills the entire room.
A tall boy. He’s lean, but not skinny, with golden, tan skin that glows under the stained-glass skylight. He has light brown hair that falls in perfectly tousled waves across his forehead, catching the light in a way that almost makes it shimmer. It’s that kind of shade that feels warm; not too light, but definitely not dark either, and it blends effortlessly with the faint freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. Freckles that soften his otherwise intense features and add a boyish charm to his face that seems entirely out of place, but somehow suits him perfectly.
But it’s the eyes that I notice first. Not only because of their impossible beauty, but also because I’ve seen them before.
A kaleidoscope of grey and green with a ring of gold around the pupil. The same eyes I saw before I fainted.
He walks like he owns the air around him.
And maybe he does. Because in that moment, everyone’s focus turns to him. Conversations fall off mid-sentence. Utensils are frozen halfway to mouths.
He doesn’t look at anyone. Doesn’t need to.
