Sunglasses indoors. A classic move. One that screamed "I'm either hungover, famous, or hiding from the consequences of my own actions."

Today, it was all three.

The hallway was a gauntlet of judgement. Girls clutched their textbooks to their chests, glaring with the kind of venom usually reserved for someone who'd keyed their car. Their whispers were sharp, vicious little things that snagged on the air.

And the boys? The boys were worse.

A wolf-whistle sliced through the din from somewhere to the left. A guy leaning against a row of lockers grinned, slow and knowing, like he was in on a joke Y/n hadn't heard yet.

It didn't.

Of course it didn't.

The locker was a safe haven. A tiny, metallic sanctuary where Y/n could turn her back on the circus and pretend she wasn't being watched. The combination lock was cold under her fingers. The click of it opening was the single most satisfying sound in the universe.

And then—

Footsteps.

Not the usual shuffling, bleary-eyed, "why am I awake at this hour" footsteps. These were confident. Deliberate. The kind of footsteps that parted crowds without a word.

Y/n didn't need to look up to know who it was.

Dylan Ford was walking toward her like he owned the hallway, the building, and possibly the entire student body's combined brain cells.

He wore a dark gray henley pushed up at the elbows, layered over a black long-sleeve, with baggy black jeans and scuffed white Converse. His brown hair was artfully messy, like he'd just rolled out of bed and somehow still looked like he'd walked off a magazine cover.

And he was smirking.

That infuriating, cocky, I-know-something-you-don't smirk.

He stopped a few feet away, then raised his voice just enough for the nearest dozen students to hear.