Chapter One: The Accidental Collision
Bracia had learned how to disappear.
Not literally, of course—though she sometimes wished that were possible. But in the crowded halls of Ridgeview High, she had mastered the art of invisibility. Eyes down, sketchbook clutched to her chest, earbuds in, footsteps light—she could move from class to class like a shadow.
And she preferred it that way.
It was easier to draw the world than to live in it.
Today, she was running late. Not because she overslept—she never did—but because she got caught up sketching in the library before first period. A swirl of inspiration hit her like lightning, and she couldn't let it go. The result? A half-finished drawing of a raven bursting from a cage, wings stretched, ink still drying on the page.
She smiled faintly to herself, proud of the shading she'd managed with just her pen.
The bell rang overhead. Crap.
She shoved her sketchbook into her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder as she darted out of the library. The hallway was already buzzing with noise—lockers slamming, voices echoing, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum.
Bracia kept her eyes down as always, weaving between students, aiming for her locker like a soldier on a mission. She was almost there. Almost safe.
And then—
Boom.
She collided with something hard. Someone, actually.
She stumbled backward, arms flailing. Her bag slipped off her shoulder and crashed to the floor, spilling pens, books, and—worst of all—her ink bottle. It rolled dramatically across the tile, coming to a stop right next to a pair of scuffed combat boots.
"Oh, great," came a deep, sarcastic voice.
Bracia froze.
She knew that voice. Everyone did.
Slowly, she looked up—and locked eyes with Finn Carter.
Her heart plummeted into her stomach.
He towered over her, hoodie unzipped halfway to reveal a black t-shirt, sleeves pushed up to show the ink curling up both of his arms. Tattoos, not pen ink. His dark hair was messy in a way that made it look intentional, and his jaw clenched as he looked down at the new black stain blooming across the front of his hoodie.
"Do you walk blindfolded, or was that just for fun?" he snapped, kicking her ink bottle gently toward her.
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, kneeling to gather her spilled things. "I didn't see you."
"Clearly."
Bracia bit the inside of her cheek. People were watching. She could feel it—the subtle slowing of footsteps, the lingering glances. Everyone knew Finn. Everyone feared him. His reputation was brutal, his temper unpredictable. He'd been in at least three fights last semester and spent more time in detention than in class.
She wasn't supposed to talk to guys like him. Especially not like this.
Especially not while crouched on the floor, cleaning up her mess.
He crouched too, reaching for her sketchbook before she could.
"'Love is a cage,'" he read aloud from the bottom of the page. His brow lifted. "Edgy."
Bracia snatched it from him, cheeks burning. "It's just a drawing."
Finn didn't move, still crouched beside her, watching her carefully. "You always carry ink in your bag?"
She nodded mutely.
"That's… weird."
"I like ink," she said, her voice stronger than she expected. "It doesn't lie the way pencils do."
Finn's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smirk—but it wasn't mockery either. "Right. Because graphite's a notorious liar."
She blinked. Was he—was he making a joke?
Before she could decide, he stood and dusted off his hoodie. The black stain had spread over the front like a shadowy bruise. "Looks like I've got art on me now. Thanks for the tattoo."
He turned to walk away, but stopped after just two steps. "What's your name again?"
"Bracia," she said quietly, brushing hair from her face.
He looked over his shoulder. "Bracia, huh?"
And then he was gone—disappearing into the crowd like smoke.
She stayed there for a moment, still kneeling in the hallway, blinking after him. No one had ever said her name like that before. As if it mattered.
⸻
Later, in Chemistry, Bracia tried to focus on covalent bonds, but her brain kept playing the scene on repeat. She could still feel the heat of embarrassment rising in her cheeks. She'd bumped into Finn Carter. Spilled ink on him. Argued back.
Was she insane?
Most people avoided Finn like a virus. He was the school's tattooed troublemaker. Rumors followed him everywhere—fights, break-ins, even a night in juvie that no one dared to confirm or deny. And yet, beneath all of that chaos, there was something else. Something she'd noticed the second he looked at her sketch.
He wasn't just angry. He was… interested.
Sort of.
Maybe.
Her pen tapped against her desk rhythmically as her eyes drifted to the back of her notebook. She flipped to a clean page and began sketching—almost without thinking.
It was him.
The curve of his jaw, the intensity of his stare. But instead of drawing him glaring or smirking, she drew him looking… thoughtful. Still. As if the chaos had paused for just one moment and let him breathe.
She stared at it when it was done, her fingers smudged with ink. What the hell was she doing?
⸻
After school, Bracia stayed behind in the art room, hoping to erase the day from her memory. The room was her sanctuary—quiet, paint-scented, with huge windows that let the golden sun spill in across the hardwood floors.
She was halfway through inking a raven's wing when the door creaked open behind her.
"Didn't know this was your cave."
Her heart stopped.
She turned slowly.
Finn. Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, hoodie still ink-stained, looking like he'd just stepped out of a movie where the bad boy had feelings he refused to talk about.
"W-What are you doing here?"
He shrugged. "Mr. Baxter said I need extra credit or I'll fail art. He told me to come talk to whoever's always in here."
Bracia blinked. "That's… me."
"Lucky me."
She stood awkwardly, unsure what to say or do. Finn wandered further in, looking around at the student work pinned to the walls.
"This place smells like paint and dust."
"That's because it's an art room," she said, folding her arms.
He turned to face her, that unreadable expression back on his face. "You draw people a lot?"
"Sometimes."
"You draw me?"
Her breath caught.
"No," she lied.
Finn grinned faintly. "You're a bad liar."
She sat back down at the table, refusing to look at him. "If you want extra credit, you have to actually do something. Not just annoy me."
Finn pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. "Then teach me."
"What?"
"Teach me. How to draw. You've got the whole brooding artist vibe. Might as well use it."
Bracia stared at him, suspicious. "Why are you actually here?"
He didn't answer right away. He just leaned back in the chair, watching her. "Because you didn't flinch."
"What?"
"When I snapped at you. You didn't flinch. Everyone else does."
She didn't know what to say to that.
So she handed him a pencil.