Chapter 2

• Ayla Cross
• “You’re pathetic, Cross. Just like your mom.”
• Jace Reyes’ voice still rang in my ears, even hours after I faceplanted in the cafeteria. His words had sliced right through me, louder than the thud of my body hitting the floor.
• It wasn’t just the fall. It was the way he said it, with that smirk twisting his stupidly perfect face—like hurting me was entertainment.
• Apparently, just existing was enough to piss everyone off.
• I clutched my arms around myself, standing awkwardly by Zane’s locker, trying not to look like I was waiting.
• But I was.
• I’d been standing here for nearly five minutes like a loser. I didn’t even know what I was doing anymore—maybe just hoping for one decent moment. Maybe hoping the one person who didn’t let Brooke get away with treating me like dirt earlier would at least acknowledge me.
• Maybe I’m just broken.
• I rubbed my hands together to distract from the gnawing doubt crawling through my chest.
• Am I really turning into one of them? Flipping my hair and waiting for some hot guy to look at me like I matter?
• Hell no. I wasn’t Brooke Leclair, faking giggles and wearing perfume like a weapon. I wasn’t trying to flirt. Not really.
• Just… maybe thank him. That’s all.
• Before I could fully convince myself I wasn’t being desperate, a wave of guys in varsity jackets stormed down the hall like they owned it. One of them slammed a shoulder into me hard enough to make me stumble into the locker behind me.
• No apologies.
• Just middle fingers and snickers as they passed.
• I gritted my teeth, swallowing the scream burning in my throat.
• “You stalking me now, Cross?”
• Zane’s voice came from behind, deep and slow and effortless.
• My body reacted before my brain could catch up—every nerve awake, aware, humming with too much feeling. I turned, and there he was, towering over me with that calm, dangerous energy that always made the air feel thinner.
• He looked me up and down—not in a sexual way, more like he was deciding whether I was worth noticing.
• God, why did my stomach flip at the way he said my name? Like it didn’t belong to an insult for once.
• Zane popped his locker open and shoved in a folder full of charcoal sketches. I didn’t dare ask what they were. His silence made me feel stupid for standing there.
• “What do you want?” he asked, voice flat. No emotion. No interest.
• I hesitated, my courage unraveling with every second.
• “I just… wanted to say thanks,” I started, voice quiet. “For earlier. Brooke’s always like that and—”
• “I wasn’t defending you,” he cut in.
• Just like that.
• My mouth snapped shut as heat rushed to my face.
• “I don’t need your gratitude. I just didn’t want to hear her voice anymore,” he added.
• And then—without warning—he shouldered past me. Hard. I stumbled, breath catching in my throat as my body lit up where his arm grazed mine. Like something electric had passed between us, fast and sharp.
• I hated how my heart reacted. Hated the way I felt it everywhere.
• He paused just long enough to toss one more dagger over his shoulder. “And by the way… that thing you’re wearing? Burn it. It’s giving ‘dumpster chic.’ Kind of iconic, honestly.”
• Then he walked away, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb.
• I sat on the bench outside school a few minutes later, head down, hoodie pulled up.
• It’s not you. It’s them. Not you. Them. I repeated it in my head like a prayer.
• The Reyes twins had every reason to hate me. My mom—Lexie Cross—had been the sidepiece that wrecked their picture-perfect family. It was public knowledge in Wolf Cove. Gossip moved fast in our town, but bloodlines moved faster.
• My last name came with curses I didn’t choose.
• And still, every time I tried to act normal, it backfired.
• I passed a group of girls sprawled across the lobby floor like they were posing for a magazine shoot. Brooke Leclair was in the center, of course. Long legs. Perfect posture. Eyes like poison.
• I didn’t need to hear what she was whispering to her friends. The way she cut her eyes at me said everything.
• I dropped my gaze and kept walking.
• I didn’t belong here. I never would.
• The rumble of the school bus engine caught my attention, and I broke into a run.
• “Wait! Hey—wait!”
• I waved my arms like a maniac, boots slapping the pavement. But the driver just smirked at me in the side mirror and sped up. Loud music blared from inside the bus like a final insult.
• Awesome.
• Guess I was walking home.
• Through downtown. Alone. At dusk.
• Exactly what every girl dreams of.
• I was halfway down my block when the feeling started.
• That cold prickle on the back of my neck. That whisper of instinct that said: You’re not alone.
• I glanced behind me.
• Nothing.
• The clouds had rolled in, making the red-roofed houses on my street look eerie and abandoned. Wind howled between the buildings. One of the streetlights flickered.
• I picked up my pace.
• Just a few more blocks.
• You’re imagining things.
• A bulb above me buzzed, flared, then burst with a sharp pop.
• My feet stopped. My pulse didn’t.
• The sound of footsteps came next.
• Slow. Heavy. Getting closer.
• I turned around—and froze.
• Someone in a hooded jacket was walking straight toward me.
• I backed away fast. My breathing turned ragged. My limbs felt loose, shaky, disconnected from my body.
• “Hey! I don’t know who you are, but if this is some joke, it’s not funny!”
• No answer.
• I turned and ran.
• My boots hit puddles. Mud splashed my legs. My breath turned to frost in the cold air.
• Whoever it was was still behind me—getting closer.
• Then something grabbed my shoulder.
• I whipped around and shoved them with everything I had. We both tumbled into the street just as headlights flared, a horn blaring like judgment day.
• I winced, shielding my eyes—then looked up.
• And time stopped.
• “Ayla, what the hell is wrong with you?!”
• The voice hit me harder than the fall.
• I knew that voice.
• That face.
• That ghost.
• “Mom?”
• Lexie Cross stared down at me, her features lit up in bright yellow by the car’s headlights.
• I couldn’t breathe.
• The world went quiet except for the echo of the driver’s angry voice in the background.
• She was back.
• And I knew—somehow, in my bones—that this was only the beginning.