Adam had always hated the cafeteria. It was a stage where the same play was performed every day: Sanchez at the center, laughing too loudly, Elena shining at his side, and everyone else orbiting like planets around their sun.Today, Adam wasn’t just watching. Today, he was calculating.Elena. Perfect Elena. Her laugh was sugar and venom, her beauty the proof of Sanchez’s dominance. If Adam could take her away—or better, break her—Sanchez would lose more than his queen. He’d lose his crown.Shatter her, Malick whispered. Seduce her, poison her, humiliate her—she is the key to his ruin.Adam smirked. “One move at a time,” he murmured under his breath.He waited until Elena broke from Sanchez’s table to throw her trash away. Timing was everything.“Hey,” Adam said smoothly, stepping into her path.Her brows knit together. “Oh. You’re—”“Adam,” he finished for her, smiling faintly. “The one everyone talks about lately.”That caught her off guard. She hesitated, then gave a small laugh. “Y

The hallways felt different now. Fear had seeped into the cracks of Westfield High like mold—whispered rumors, darting glances, laughter that died too quickly. Two bullies in the locker row ahead snickered nervously about Marcus and Ethan. “First Simon, now Marcus? Both messed up bad.” “Yeah, it’s like someone’s hunting us.” “Shut up,” one hissed, his voice trembling. “Don’t say that out loud.” Adam slipped past them with a thin smile. Good. Let them squirm. But his satisfaction burned away when he caught sight of Lilith at the far end of the hall. She leaned against the wall as though she’d been waiting just for him. Their eyes locked. Hers glittered with a secret he desperately wanted—and feared—to know. Adam stalked toward her, his footsteps sharp. “You,” he hissed. “Talk.” Lilith tilted her head, unbothered by his tone. “Talk about what?” “Don’t play games with me. Marcus. Simon. Both taken down exactly the way I planned. That’s not coincidence.” Her lips curv

Westfield High was a nest of whispers. Fear clung to the walls like static, buzzing through every hallway.“Ethan can barely walk…”“They say Marcus still hasn’t woken up…”“And Elena—something grabbed her. She swears it wasn’t human.”Each voice dipped low, as though speaking the curse too loudly might call it closer.Sanchez walked through the cafeteria like a storm barely contained, his fists balled at his sides, jaw locked. Normally, kids scrambled to greet him or clap him on the back. Now, they kept their distance. He wasn’t their king anymore—he was radioactive.Adam, meanwhile, sat at a table near the center of the room, relaxed, watching. Every flicker of fear, every tremor in Sanchez’s composure—it was like wine to him.But what intoxicated him most was Elena.She wasn’t sitting with Sanchez today. Instead, she slid quietly into the seat beside Adam. Her perfume drifted toward him—sweet, nervous. She leaned close, her voice low but urgent.“Adam… thank you again. If you hadn’

The rumors spread faster than the blood had.By Monday morning, Westfield High was a hive of fear. Teachers whispered about curses when they thought no one could hear. Students moved in packs, afraid to walk alone. The once-loud corridors were now filled with the hum of tension, of eyes darting to corners, of quiet breaths held too long.And at the center of it all—two boys.One losing control.The other losing his mind.---Sanchez sat alone in the locker room, staring at the cracks in the tiles. His fists were still bruised from the last fight he’d picked off-campus, a fight he hadn’t even wanted. He’d swung because he needed to feel something—something that would tell him he was still in charge.But all he felt was fear.He didn’t recognize himself anymore. The confident grin, the easy charm that made people orbit him—it was gone. Now when people saw him, they saw the curse, the blood, the rumor that clung to his name like a disease.And all of it started with Lawson.Adam Lawson—t

Night fell like a thick, suffocating blanket over Westfield High. The streets were empty, save for the occasional flicker of a streetlamp casting long shadows over cracked sidewalks. Adam Lawson moved silently through the darkness, every sense alert, every nerve humming. The gym incident had changed everything. The mysterious attacks—not by him, not by Malick—had opened a door into a game he wasn’t fully prepared to play.And yet, he would play it.Adam’s eyes narrowed as he considered what had happened. One student dead. Sanchez fled. Another attack in the shadows, precise, surgical, executed with a speed and intelligence he didn’t recognize. Whoever—or whatever—was behind it had learned his methods without ever watching him.Malick’s whisper coiled in his mind, cold and sharp: A rival hunter. Someone testing your skill, your patience. They will not stop until they surpass you—or destroy you.Adam’s jaw tightened. I’ve faced Sanchez. I’ve faced the world’s hate. I’ve faced death. I w