For a while, the only sound in her dorm room was the hum of the mini-fridge and the distant thrum of campus life settling down for the night.

Then came the thump. Muffled. Followed by the low vibration of a bassline she'd heard a hundred times before through the thin walls of lecture halls and library study rooms.

She sat up, sheets pooling around her waist, and glared at the wall like it had personally offended her.

The music kept playing. She could hear it clearly now—some lo-fi hip-hop track with a heavy bassline. The kind of song someone played when they were trying to study or pretending to be deep.

She threw her blanket aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her feet hit the cold floor and she padded toward the wall, hand raised, ready to knock hard enough to vibrate his stupid speakers.

Her fist hovered an inch from the surface.

Then the music cut off.

Silence. Complete, suffocating silence.

She waited. A creak from the other side. Someone shifting in bed. The faint rustle of sheets.

Then a voice. Low. Quiet. Almost like he was talking to himself.

The room felt smaller now. Quieter.

Dante Moreau. Her academic rival. The guy who'd spent four years arguing with her, competing with her, and acting like she was the single most irritating person he'd ever met.

Had just said her name.

Not in anger. Not in irritation.

Like it meant something.

She stayed there for a long moment, listening. But there was nothing else. Just the hum of the mini-fridge and the distant rhythm of her own heartbeat.

Slowly, she backed toward her bed and sat down on the edge. She stared at the wall.

There was no way. Absolutely no fucking way.

The silence stretched between the two rooms like a held breath.