Drake.
Fuck. Of all people. Drake.
I stiffened, heart lurching like it was trying to jump out of my damn chest and roll under the nearest table. I knew he worked here—I just didn't think I'd run into him on my first day.
I hope he doesn't recognize me. I hope the fucking perfume holds.
Yeah, I wasn't an idiot. Not entirely. I didn't just slap on a new hair color and call it espionage. I brewed a scent-altering potion so potent it gave me a nosebleed the first time. Wolves, vampires, fae, even those blood-sniffing nagas from the eastern tribes—none of them should be able to sniff me out.
But he wasn't just any supernatural. He was Drake. My ex. My mistake. The boy who broke me like a twig and watched me burn from the sidelines.
And the way he was staring at me now? Yeah. He felt something.
He was standing by the administration hall, clipboard in one hand, that same confident posture that used to make my teenage brain short-circuit.
