The classroom was nearly silent, broken only by the occasional sound of fingers tapping tablets or the soft scratch of pen on paper. Outside the tall windows, the sky was dimming into a deep violet as the last traces of sunset faded over the dormitory rooftops. A faint breeze stirred the trees, rustling leaves like paper whispers, but inside, everything remained still.
Adam sat at his usual seat at the back of the room, elbows propped on the desk, fingers gripping the stylus like it was the last lifeline to his sanity. His shoulders were tense, head dipped as he scribbled onto a notepad beside his school tablet. The screen before him glowed gently, displaying a neat layout of digital notes synced from today's lecture. In the top-right corner, a soft prompt ticked away:
Study Time: 2 hr 47 min
His back ached from leaning too long, and his neck was stiff. He blinked, eyes dry, the material on nucleophilic Acyl substitution reactions now swimming before him like alphabet soup. There was a tight knot in his chest, stress. It had been building all week. Midterms were close now. Closer than he liked to admit.
He rubbed his face with one hand and checked the time again on his watch: 8:03 PM. He exhaled and leaned back in his chair. This was not how he hoped to spend his Friday night.
Only seven students were scattered across the classroom now. Luna sat two rows ahead and to the right, her face resting against her hand as she stared at her screen with unnerving focus. A few others mumbled between themselves or tapped lazily on their desks, the atmosphere dulled by fatigue after the fundraiser earlier in the day.
Adam began packing up. He slid his tablet into his bag, capped his pen, and closed the notepad with a sigh. He stretched slightly, trying not to make too much noise. Just as he slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder and turned toward the exit, his eyes met Luna's.
She was watching him. Quietly. Not cold, not exactly curious either, just watching. Like she was measuring something he couldn't see.
He offered a small, polite nod. She didn't return it. Her gaze lingered a second longer before slipping back to her screen.
Okay then, he thought. Weird.
Still, the quiet tension hung in the air as he left the room.
The hallway outside was dim and mostly empty, lit by low ambient lighting that turned the polished floors to gentle reflections. Most second year students were in their dorms by now, tired from the fundraiser, probably still recovering from dancing or socializing. Adam walked slowly, letting his footsteps echo softly off the walls. There was a certain stillness tonight that he liked. For once, it felt like the world wasn't rushing him.
As he passed the gym's glass doors, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
He paused.
Inside, alone beneath the bright ceiling lights, was Amber.
She was on the treadmill, running at a steady pace, her ponytail swinging with each stride. Wireless earbuds were in her ears, and a towel was tossed over the handlebar. She wore a sleeveless top and black athletic leggings, toned arms glistening lightly with sweat.
Adam hesitated for a second, then pushed the door open.
The door made a soft thud as it closed behind him, catching Amber's attention. She pulled out an earbud, slowing the machine to a halt.
"Hey," Adam said, smiling. "Didn't expect to see you here."
Amber stepped off the treadmill, grabbing her towel and patting her forehead. "Could say the same," she replied, a little breathless. "Thought I'd have the place to myself."
Adam chuckled. "I guess we both like avoiding the crowd."
She nodded but didn't come any closer. In fact, now that he really looked, there was something... different. Her usual warmth was there, but muted. No teasing. No cheeky comment. No attempt at a hug, which used to be her go-to.
"You were amazing in the last match," he offered, trying to close the gap.
Amber gave a soft laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "Thanks. That means a lot."
Then silence.
She shifted awkwardly, eyes flicking to the side before settling on his again. He noticed now, was that a blush? Her cheeks had a faint, reddish hue.
"Everything okay?" Adam asked carefully. "You seem… off. Not that I'm trying to pry."
Amber paused. Her fingers tightened slightly on the towel.
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Just… tired. Been a long week, you know?"
He nodded slowly, still unsure. Something wasn't adding up. Amber was always bold, forward, even when she was dead tired.
'Oh no... She hates me.' Adam pondered
She looked at him again, and her smile wavered.
"I should go," she said suddenly. "Need to shower before curfew."
"Oh. Right. Yeah."
She began walking past him, then paused.
"Goodnight, Adam."
"Goodnight." Adam replied in defeat. 'yeah, she definitely hates me.'
And just like that, she was gone, leaving behind the gentle hum of fluorescent lights and the distant whir of gym machinery.
Adam stood there for a moment, staring at the door she'd disappeared through.
That was strange.
She hadn't made a joke. Hadn't tried to wrestle him into a hug. No usual bounce to her step.
Just like Anissa the other day. Distant. Guarded.
His brows furrowed slightly.
Is it me? Did I do something?
He retraced the last few times they'd talked, nothing stood out. No awkward texts. No fights. Nothing.
And yet, Amber looked like she'd seen a ghost.
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, and slung his bag higher onto his shoulder.
Maybe I'm overthinking it. Or maybe… something's going on I don't know about.
He walked slowly toward the dorms, the night pressing in gently around him.
Whatever it was, he'd figure it out eventually.
For now, all he wanted was a hot shower, a cold drink, and a long night of not thinking about midterms.
***
The night had settled like a velvet curtain over the school grounds by the time Adam stepped out of the shower. The warmth from the water still clung to his skin, but the cool air of his dorm room quickly chased it away. Bryce was already fast asleep, sprawled out on his bed in a position that looked equal parts uncomfortable and goofy. Adam couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he watched his friend's awkward limbs tangled in slumber.
Still, despite the exhaustion pooling in his muscles, Adam found sleep elusive. His mind buzzed, restless and unwilling to shut down. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, he sat up, the soft creak of his bed the only sound in the quiet room. He reached into his closet and pulled out the small sketchbook he kept hidden away, a secret sanctuary of lines and shadows, memories and imagination.
He considered the rooftop, hoping for solitude, but faint voices drifted through the open door, students chatting softly, probably enjoying the cool night breeze. He shuffled past, careful not to wake Bryce, and headed toward the soccer bleachers, thinking the empty field might offer some peace. But no luck, the rhythmic thuds and yells of football practice echoed through the night air, punctuated by occasional laughter and the sharp squeak of the training whistle.
Disappointed but undeterred, Adam continued his search until he reached the edge of the school where the forest intersected into school grounds, forming a little forest sanctuary in the school... A mini forest if you would.
The dense cluster of trees felt like stepping into a different world. Near the river, a grand oak stood sentinel, ancient and wise, its thick roots clutching the earth as if guarding secrets older than the school itself. Adam paused, awe settling over him as he traced the rough bark with a reverent hand.
Finding a cozy spot at the base of the tree, he leaned back, the solid trunk grounding him. He opened his sketchbook and flipped through pages that revealed his artistic journey, early sketches flawless and vibrant, evolving gradually into looser, more emotional strokes as the style changed halfway through the book. He smiled softly, remembering that this book once belonged to his mother, Clara, whose talent had always been effortless, breathtaking.
After a moment's hesitation, Adam turned to a fresh page, tapping his pencil against it as he considered what to draw. Then, as if the answer found him, he started sketching Luna's face, her sharp eyes, the faint curve of her smile, the enigmatic way her hair fell just so. The lines took shape, tentative at first, then confident as the outline grew. And in a way, her face seemed oddly familiar.
Suddenly, a voice above broke the silence, soft, teasing, familiar.
"That's a pretty good sketch."
Adam yelped, nearly dropping his pencil, and jumped in surprise. His eyes shot upward to see Abigail perched gracefully on a branch above him, her gaze amused. She cocked her head, eyebrows raised.
"You scream like a kid," she said, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips.
"How long have you been there?" Adam asked, still catching his breath.
"Longer than you have," she replied with a shrug. "I like the quiet, the privacy... and apparently, so do you." Her eyes gleamed with quiet laughter.
Adam closed his sketchbook briefly, nodding. "Yeah, I guess so."
With feline agility, Abigail jumped down from the tree, landing silently on the soft earth. She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes mock-seriously.
"You ruined my peace, so I guess I'll have to ruin yours by sticking around a while."
Adam blinked, startled but oddly pleased. She sat close beside him, her presence warm and steady.
As they talked, Adam noticed the subtle heat radiating from her skin, warmer than usual, almost feverish, but there was no sign of illness. He decided not to dwell on it.
"Are you trying to draw me?" Abigail asked suddenly, peering over his shoulder.
Adam's cheeks flushed. "Yeah... I guess I am... Trying to make it look like you."
She leaned a little closer, watching his pencil move. "Why sketching?"
Adam paused, glancing up at her. "My mom... she used to draw all the time. When she was bored or just wanted to unwind. Sometimes I'd sit next to her and watch. It was peaceful..."
His voice softened, lost in memory.
"She was amazing. I'd give her little challenges, and she'd always draw something better than I imagined."
His mind drifted back to his mother, Clara, the gentle smile, the kind eyes, the quiet strength in her hands as they moved effortlessly over paper. A flash of warmth, of love and loss.
Abigail's voice brought him back. "I wish my mom was more like yours," she said quietly. "Maybe things would be different."
Adam frowned slightly, confused by the weight behind her words, but he let it go. They lapsed into silence, gazing upward at the moon, its gibbous face casting a silver glow over the quiet forest.
After a long pause, Adam broke the silence.
"Why have Amber and Anissa been acting so... off lately?"
Abigail's expression shifted, a subtle, knowing smile curling her lips. "I don't have the slightest idea," she said, playfully evasive. "Maybe I just haven't noticed."
She shifted, drawing closer, her eyes locking onto his.
"Maybe you should focus less on them, and more on me."
Adam blinked, caught off guard. Slowly, he nodded, letting his attention settle fully on her.
After a moment, Abigail smiled softly and stood.
"Well... it's late. I should get going."
She leaned in suddenly, brushing a gentle kiss on his cheek, a delicate, surprising touch that left a warmth spreading through him.
"Goodnight, Adam."
Before he could say anything, she was gone, leaving Adam sitting beneath the ancient oak tree, the moonlight washing over him as a swirl of confusion, hope, and something tender tangled in his chest. 'I will never understand women.'
Meanwhile, the gravel crunched beneath Abigail Thorne's leather boots as she walked the shadowed path back toward the dorms, her stride measured and composed. A breeze swirled through the leaves of the east wing courtyard, brushing her loose strands of black hair across her cheek. Her face, a mask of perfect calm, betrayed nothing of the whirlwind stirring in her chest. The faint rustle of branches above and the distant hum of the campus generators gave the air a low, steady rhythm, like the school itself was breathing.
But her thoughts were somewhere else. Not in the cool air, not on the silent hallway she passed through, but back under the old oak tree, where she'd sat beside Adam.
The memory still burned warm on her skin.
That question he asked. About her sisters. It lingered, poking holes through her resolve like needles through silk. He'd been too perceptive. And curious. She hated that about him. She hated that she didn't hate it more.
As she neared her dorm building, her steps slowed, hesitating at the base of the steps. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the trees behind her, painting silvery veins along the pavement. For a moment, she stood there, caught between what was and what had been. Her gaze turned upward, to the dark blanket of stars draped across the sky. And the memories returned like a sharp wind.
Last weekend. The Thorne estate sat on the outskirts of Moonstone Ridge, nestled behind a dense grove of ash and silver birch. The air there was always colder, crisper, like the trees themselves held ancient secrets. The back compound, where the girls gathered, was a secluded training arena bordered by low stone walls, climbing ivy, and ceremonial lanterns glowing with soft golden fire. The moon, half-lit, cast long shadows through the sparse canopy.
Abigail stood at the center of the stone platform. She wore a tailored training gi, dark navy and silver, cinched at the waist. Her eyes were sharp, serious. Her sisters stood across from her, Anissa in a lightweight hoodie and joggers, arms folded; Amber, in her usual activewear, stretching her arms with silent resolve.
"Do you remember the mission Mother gave us?" Abigail's voice was cool, crisp, with a quiet finality that pulled attention like gravity.
"Of course we do," Amber said first, her voice tinged with tension. "How could we forget?"
Anissa nodded, silent. Her eyes, however, flicked with something more, resentment? Doubt?
Abigail took a slow breath, folding her arms behind her back.
"Then you both know what that means. Only one of us can be close to him. The rest must stay back. No confusion. No competition."
Anissa scoffed lightly, tossing her head. "You and Amber can fight over him. I have better things to worry about."
Abigail watched her with narrowed eyes. The words were a lie, she could tell. But fine. One down.
Amber didn't budge. Her gaze stayed fixed on Abbi. "Why should it be you?"
Abigail tilted her head. "Because I understand the stakes. Because I don't let emotions cloud judgment."
Amber's jaw flexed. Her fists clenched at her sides. "That's a load of crap and you know it. I've been watching him too. I know how to play the long game."
A beat of silence. Then Abigail sighed.
"Then we settle it the traditional way."
Amber arched a brow. "You want to duel?"
"No transformations," Abigail clarified. "Just strength, speed, and skill."
Amber smirked, stepping onto the stone mat. "You're on."
Anissa exhaled sharply and backed away to the far end, arms folded. "This is dumb. But fine. Just don't destroy the place."
The sisters squared off. The air thickened.
Amber moved first, her steps swift, graceful. Abigail met her in kind, their arms clashing as Amber tried for a shoulder throw. Abigail countered with a low sweep, forcing Amber to pivot. The two locked in a standing clinch, arms entangled, breaths shallow. Their movements were disciplined, precise. Jiujitsu drills from childhood surfacing instinctively.
Abigail ducked under a strike, catching Amber in a wrist-lock, but Amber twisted free with a backward roll and kicked up, catching Abigail in the ribs. The hit made her stumble, but not fall. Not yet.
Then something shifted. A flicker of emotion in Abigail's eyes, resentment, perhaps, or desperation, and her next move came with ferocity. Her punches turned sharper, angrier. The calculated spar evolved into a brutal brawl.
Amber tried to push her back, but Abigail was relentless, every block countered with a hit, every stumble followed by a takedown attempt. Eventually, Abigail caught her in a full-body sweep and slammed her into the stone with a heavy thud. The stone cracked.
Amber lay winded, chest rising and falling.
"Fine," she said, her voice strained. "You win."
Abigail stepped back, breathing hard. She didn't gloat. Just stood there, eyes locked ahead.
"Then it's settled," she said, voice colder than the night air. "You both stay distant from him. No slip-ups. No distractions. We can't draw attention to the mission."
Anissa nodded silently.
Amber sat up slowly. "You really want this that bad, huh?"
Abigail didn't answer. She turned away, the moonlight reflecting off the silver in her eyes.
Now. She stood outside her dorm, fingers clenched lightly at her side. Her heartbeat was faster than it should be.
The mission. That was the point of all of this. Adam wasn't supposed to be anything more than an objective. A target to be tracked. Protected. Watched. He was prey.
So why did her chest ache when he looked at her like that? Why did she stay under that tree longer than she needed to, soaking in the warmth of his presence like a fool in a dream?
She smiled faintly, bitterly.
"A lion catching feelings for an antelope," she whispered to herself.
The moon, high and pale in the sky, offered no answers.
Only silence.