---
I tried to stay away from her.
Really, I did.
At first, it was easy.
Go to class. Keep my head down. Ignore the fact that she always seemed to be watching.
But by Friday, something had shifted.
In me.
Maybe it was the way she smiled at other people.
Too sweet. Too practiced.
Maybe it was the way the other boys looked at her—their greedy eyes scraping over what wasn't theirs.
Maybe it was the way Mr. Anders brushed her arm once, trying to be "comforting," and she flinched like she'd been burned.
I didn't think about it.
I didn't let myself think about it.
I just found myself walking past Mr. Anders' office after last bell.
Found myself standing there, just... watching.
He wasn't even talking to her. He was alone, tapping on his laptop. Harmless.
It didn't matter.
My fists clenched at my sides.
I wanted to walk in there.
Close the door.
Smile.
And explain to him, slowly, how you don't touch things that aren't yours.
---
That thought scared me.
Not because it was violent—
But because it felt good.
Because part of me liked the idea of breaking something for her.
Even if she didn't ask.
Even if she didn't know.
---
At dinner that night, Eliora sat across from me, spinning her fork idly between her fingers.
She caught me staring.
Smiled like she knew.
"You're brooding," she said under her breath.
Mocking. Teasing.
"You like it," I muttered back.
The corner of her mouth twitched.
And for just a second—just a second—there was something raw behind her eyes.
Approval.
Recognition.
Two predators sniffing each other out.
---
I didn't sleep that night.
I thought about her.
About Mr. Anders.
About what it would feel like to finally let myself snap.
And somewhere between midnight and dawn, I realized:
It wasn't just that Eliora was dangerous.
It was that I wanted to be dangerous for her.