The first day back was louder than she remembered.
The hallway buzzed with the hum of fresh gossip, polished shoes squeaking on waxed floors, and locker doors slamming shut like punctuation marks. Hair had grown longer, tans had faded, couples had broken up, new ones formed. Some faces had changed, but most things stayed the same.
Lyra stood still in the chaos, her fingers tight around the strap of her worn bag. The voices all blurred together. She moved like a ghost, unnoticed, slipping between bodies.
Her eyes scanned every corner. Every cluster. Every stranger.
But he wasn't there.
It was already third period.
And she hadn't seen him.
Elias greeted her like always, a little too happy to see her, his touch light on her elbow. They had almost every class together this year again, except two—advanced literature and philosophy. Those she shared with the senior year students because her grade had too few to form full classes.
She didn't mind the older students.
But as she stepped into the tall-ceilinged, book-filled literature room, she felt it.
A shift in the air.
A presence.
He was already sitting at the back of the class.
The new guy.
Not Damon. She knew it instantly.
This one was all sunlight where Damon had been storm.
Blonde hair. Messy but not wild. Artfully disheveled like it had been raked through impatiently a hundred times.
Eyes—green-blue. Like sea glass. Clear but deep.
He was well built. Broad shoulders beneath a white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The cut of his jaw was sharp. His cheekbones high. But his expression was distant. Cold. As if the world around him wasn't worth noticing.
Amanda tried.
She slid into the seat beside him with a syrupy smile, lips already glossed and eyes wide.
But he didn't look at her.
He barely spoke.
Only nodded to the teacher's instruction that the seats were temporary.
And when the teacher called out Lyra's name, and pointed her toward the only open chair—right beside him—he finally stirred.
His eyes flicked toward Amanda.
"I prefer to sit alone," he said coolly.
But the teacher only raised a brow. "Then I suggest you make room. Lyra, sit."
Amanda huffed and flipped her hair as she moved to another row.
Lyra hesitated. Then slowly stepped closer.
He didn't move. He didn't even look at her.
But she felt it—the energy. Thick. Intense.
She sat.
They didn't speak.
The lesson began.
But she felt him.
Every second. Every minute.
Eyes burning into the side of her face.
She didn't know if it was annoyance. Or interest. Or something else entirely.
She didn't dare glance at him.
But five minutes before the bell, she did.
Just a flicker.
And found him already looking.
Their eyes locked.
His gaze was unblinking. Cold. But curious.
She couldn't look away.
Her heart thudded in her chest, heavy and slow.
And then—
His lips curled into the faintest smirk.
And in a voice that wasn't loud, but somehow still echoed, he leaned ever so slightly closer.
His breath was warm. His tone velvet.
"Lucian," he whispered. "My name is Lucian."
The bell rang.
But she didn't move.
Not right away.
Because in that single moment—
Something shifted again.