The football field at Willow Creek High was a cathedral of sweat and glory, bathed in the golden haze of late afternoon. The bleachers, chipped and graffitied, stood like silent witnesses to the daily ritual of practice, where boys became gods and girls became pilgrims, lingering on the sidelines with their phones out, capturing every flex and grin for their stories. Asher Kane, the new transfer, was already the high priest of this scene. Three days into his reign as Willow Creek's starting wide receiver, he moved across the field like he was born for it—catching passes with a grace that bordered on unnatural, his body slicing through the defense like a blade through silk. Every sprint, every leap, every smirk he threw to the crowd felt choreographed, like he was performing for an audience far bigger than the fifty kids watching.
Clare stood at the edge of the field, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her Bible tucked under her arm like a shield. She wasn't here for the show—she was just cutting through on her way to the library, where she'd promised to meet Mia for a study session. But Mia, predictably, was nowhere near the library. Instead, she was perched on the bleachers with the rest of her crew—Kylie, Tara, and Emily—giggling and whispering as they watched Asher weave through drills. Clare sighed, her sneakers scuffing the dirt as she approached. She could feel the energy of the crowd, the way it pulsed around Asher like a heartbeat. It made her skin itch.
"Clare! Oh my God, get over here!" Mia's voice cut through the chatter, sharp and insistent. She was waving like she was flagging down a rescue plane, her glittery nails catching the light. Clare hesitated, then trudged up the bleacher steps, her ponytail swinging like a metronome. She dropped onto the bench next to Mia, ignoring the way Kylie's eyes flicked over her, judging her plain hoodie and lack of makeup.
"You're late," Clare said, keeping her voice low. "We were supposed to start studying twenty minutes ago."
Mia waved her off, her eyes locked on the field. "Studying can wait. This? This is history." She pointed at Asher, who was jogging back to the huddle, his jersey clinging to his shoulders in a way that made the girls around them sigh in unison. "Look at him, Clare. He's, like, not even human. Nobody moves like that."
Clare didn't look. She opened her Bible instead, flipping to a dog-eared page in Proverbs. "He's just a guy, Mia. Not Jesus."
Mia snorted, nudging her. "You're such a buzzkill. But, like, a cute buzzkill. You could totally get his attention if you tried."
Clare's pencil froze mid-doodle. "I'm not trying," she said, her voice flat but firm. She'd spent years building her walls—against guys, against temptation, against the pressure to be anything other than the girl who prayed before meals and meant it. She wasn't about to let some new kid, no matter how hot, crack that foundation.
But Mia wasn't listening. "You're, like, the only one who doesn't care about him. That's your superpower, babe. Guys like that? They want what they can't have." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Even if it's just one night, Clare. Live a little. You're eighteen. You don't have to marry the guy."
Clare's chest tightened. She hated how Mia's words echoed her own secret thoughts—the ones that crept in late at night, when she lay awake wondering what it would feel like to let go, just once. To be seen, not as the "church girl" or the "pure one," but as someone alive, someone who could burn as bright as the girls around her. She shook her head, shoving the thought down. "I'm good, Mia. Really."
On the field, practice was winding down. Asher peeled off his helmet, his dark hair damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in a way that made him look both dangerous and vulnerable. He jogged over to the sidelines, where his new crew—Jake and Marcus, two linemen who'd adopted him like he was their ticket to glory—were already cracking open Gatorades.
"Yo, Kane," Jake said, tossing him a bottle. "You're making us look bad out there. Slow down, man, let us catch up."
Asher caught the bottle one-handed, his grin sharp and effortless. "Not my fault you're built like a fridge, Jake. Move faster."
Marcus laughed, punching Jake's shoulder. "Told you, bro. Kid's a freak." He turned to Asher, his voice dropping. "So, you got a date for Homecoming yet? Tara's been asking about you. And Kylie. And, like, half the squad."
Asher took a long pull from the bottle, his eyes drifting to the bleachers. The girls there were watching, their giggles floating down like confetti. He shrugged, leaning back against the fence. "Not yet. Nobody's caught my eye."
Jake raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Bruh, you're swimming in options. Kylie's literally posting thirst traps with your name in the captions. What's the holdup?"
Asher's gaze flicked back to the bleachers, but not to Kylie or Tara or any of the girls preening for his attention. His eyes landed on Clare, who was still bent over her Bible, her lips moving slightly as she read. She was different—quiet, contained, like a flame burning low but steady. He'd noticed her the first day, the way she didn't look at him like he was a prize to be won. It wasn't just that she was pretty, though she was—her brown eyes soft but sharp, her skin glowing under the afternoon sun like she was lit from within. It was something else. Something pure. Untouched. It called to him, not in the way the other girls did, but in a way that made his chest ache, like he was remembering something he'd lost.
"I don't want the usual," Asher said, his voice low, almost to himself. "I want something… different. Real."
Marcus snorted. "Real? Bro, you're in high school. Ain't nobody real here." He followed Asher's gaze, landing on Clare. "Wait. Her? Church Girl Clare? Good luck, man. She's, like, untouchable. Doesn't date, doesn't party, doesn't even cuss."
Jake grinned, clapping Asher on the back. "Bet you could change that. You're Asher freakin' Kane. Girls don't say no to you."
Asher didn't answer. He just watched Clare, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was solving a puzzle. He wasn't like the others, either. They didn't know it, but he wasn't here by accident. He'd come to Willow Creek with a purpose, a mission that burned in his veins like fire. He was meant to find a soul, to claim it, to offer it up to the shadows that had sent him. Seduction was his weapon, and he'd wielded it a hundred times before, leaving broken hearts and empty promises in his wake. But Clare… she wasn't like the others. She was a challenge. A spark of light in a world he was meant to darken. And something in him—something he didn't want to name—wanted her, not just for the mission, but for himself.
Later that day, in the hallway outside chem class, Asher made his move. The bell had just rung, and the corridor was a chaos of slamming lockers and shouted plans for the weekend. Clare was at her locker, swapping out her books, when she felt it—that same cold hook in her chest she'd felt the first day she saw him. She looked up, and there he was, leaning against the wall like he'd been waiting for her.
"Hey, Clare," he said, his voice smooth, like it could slip through any defense. His gray eyes locked onto hers, and for a second, she forgot how to breathe.
"Hi," she managed, clutching her books tighter. "What's up?"
He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them. He was close enough now that she could smell the faint cedar-and-smoke scent of him, could see the way his lashes framed those unsettling eyes. "Homecoming," he said, his lips curling into a half-smile. "You going?"
Clare's heart thudded, but she kept her face neutral. "Probably not. It's not really my thing."
"Not your thing?" He raised an eyebrow, like he was genuinely surprised. "Come on. It's senior year. One night to let loose. You telling me you never have fun?"
"I have fun," she said, a little too quickly. "Just… not like that."
He tilted his head, studying her. "Then let me change your mind. Go with me."
The words hit like a shockwave. Clare blinked, her mouth opening before she could stop it. "What?"
"Go with me," he repeated, slower this time, his voice dipping low, almost intimate. "You don't have to be anyone but yourself. I just… I want to know you, Clare."
Her first instinct was to say no. She'd said no to guys before—plenty of them, with their cocky grins and empty promises. But Asher wasn't like them. There was something in his eyes, something that felt like it could see straight through her, past the walls she'd built, to the part of her that was tired of being the good girl, the outsider, the one who always said no. For a second, she imagined it—dancing with him, feeling his hand on her waist, letting herself feel alive, just once.
"No," she said finally, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. "I can't. Sorry."
Asher didn't push. He just nodded, his smile softening, like he'd expected it. "Alright. Offer's open if you change your mind." He turned to go, but not before his fingers brushed her arm, light as a whisper but heavy with intent. The touch lingered, sending a shiver through her that she couldn't explain.
That night, Clare couldn't sleep. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, her room lit only by the faint glow of her cross necklace hanging on the bedpost. Mia's voice echoed in her head—Live a little. Her friends had ambushed her after school, crowding around her in the parking lot, their excitement spilling over like champagne.
"Clare, are you serious?" Mia had practically shrieked when Clare told them about Asher's invite. "He asked you? And you said no? Are you insane?"
"He's not just some guy," Kylie had chimed in, her eyes wide. "He's, like, a god. You don't say no to a god."
"It's one night," Tara added, softer, almost pleading. "You're always so… careful. Don't you ever want to feel something?"
Clare had brushed them off, but their words clung to her like damp clothes. She wasn't like them. She didn't chase boys or clout or the rush of being wanted. But alone in her room, with the silence pressing in, she felt it—a loneliness she'd never named before. She'd spent so long being the girl who said no, the girl who held fast to her principles, that she'd forgotten what it felt like to want something. To want someone.
She rolled over, her eyes landing on the Bible on her nightstand. She reached for it, then stopped. Instead, she grabbed her phone and opened her messages. Mia's last text stared back at her: You're gonna regret saying no to him, Clare. Trust me.
Clare's thumb hovered over the keyboard. She thought of Asher's eyes, the way they'd held hers, the way his touch had felt like a spark. She thought of Homecoming, of music and lights and the chance to be someone else, just for a night. Her heart pounded, a mix of fear and something hotter, something that scared her more than any demon could.
She typed a message, deleted it, typed it again. Finally, she hit send.
Okay. I'll go with you.
Asher's reply came almost instantly, like he'd been waiting.
Good choice, Clare. You won't regret it.
But as she set her phone down, her chest tight with something she couldn't name, she wasn't so sure.