Chapter Three: The Scent
I thought I could avoid them if I kept moving.
Different routes to school. Different coffee shop. Never the same seat on the bus.
It worked… for three days.
Today, the air changed.
I was in the library — second floor, quiet section, just me and the smell of old paper — when it hit.
A faint tang, metallic and sweet, like rust soaked in honey.
Pheromones.
My vision sharpened instantly. My heart pounded in a strange, stuttering rhythm. I knew what it meant. Someone was marking the space.
Marking me.
I glanced over the rail and saw him. The boy from my building.
He wasn't looking at books — he was scanning the room, nose twitching like he was smelling the air.
And then I saw the others.
Two women by the entrance, pretending to browse. A man near the study cubicles. All still, all watching. Their bodies too relaxed, their breathing too slow. Hiveborn.
I stuffed my notebook into my bag and headed for the fire stairs.
Made it halfway down before the hum started.
Low. Endless. Pressing against my skull like a hand.
I gripped the railing so hard the metal groaned. The hum burrowed deeper, threading through my thoughts. For a second, I almost wanted to go to them — to let them take me. The Hive doesn't hurt you. It keeps you. Protects you. Loves you.
That's the lie.
> Don't run, the voice said.
They'll scent your fear.
My hand brushed the mark on my neck — and something shifted. Plates rippled under my skin, my sight sharpening, my muscles tightening like drawn wire.
The Queen was calling.
But so was he.
And I had no idea which pull I could survive.