“You’ve already bet on me?”
“Well, of course,” he says with that flirty smile that must get him all the girls, head tilting. “Impressive.”
“Thanks?”
He leans in enough that I catch the faint scent of some expensive cologne and peppermint. “So… Advanced Lit. Either you're smart, or someone seriously overestimated your reading comprehension.”
I lift a brow. “You always this charming?”
“Only when I’m trying to impress someone,” he says without missing a beat.
A breath of a laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
He grins like that was exactly the reaction he was aiming for.
I open my mouth to respond, but something makes me pause. I feel someone watching me. I glance across the room and—there he is.
Sitting three rows up, in the very center like he owns the damn place. Jace Ravencourt. Dark hair, sharp profile, back perfectly straight. I can feel his attention like a blade across the back of my neck.
Judging. Waiting.
Not smiling. Not speaking.
Luca observes me with the lazy attention of a cat playing with its toy. He leans forward on one elbow.
“You’ve got the look, y’know,” he drawls, voice low enough that no one else can hear. “The whole tragic, dark past thing. Haunted eyes, mystery girl vibes. You’re lucky—some people pay for that aesthetic.”
I try and fail not so scowl, a little taken back by the change. “You talk to everyone like this?”
He shrugs one shoulder, grinning. “Only the interesting ones.”
“I could show you around,” he says, quiet and dangerous. “Blackmoore’s a labyrinth if you don’t know the right doors. And I happen to know all of them. All the best places to do dirty things in.” He winks.
I fold my arms. “Thanks, but I don’t trust guys who flirt like it’s a sport.”
Luca’s eyes spark—amused again. He likes the pushback. “That’s fair. But maybe I’m just being nice to the new girl.”
“Maybe I don’t need nice.”
He tilts his head, like I’ve just confirmed something for him. “No. I bet you don’t.”
Then the smile fades. And just like that, the temperature drops.
I knew it. They were testing me. Using the charmer first to try to lower my guard.Sneaky move, Ravencourt.
He leans back in his seat, all trace of warmth gone from his voice. “Still,” he says, tapping a finger on the desk, “you should be careful.”
My stomach knots.
“New girls tend to break easily around here,” he finishes. “Would be a shame if all that sharpness you’re pretending to have turned out to be paper-thin.”
My jaw tightens, and he smiles again.
Not kind. Not playful.
Predatory.
A voice from the front of the room calls for attention as the teacher begins organizing the day’s lecture.
