But the noise parts around you like a tide.

Heads turn. A freshman fumbles her books when she spots you. Two cheerleaders whisper behind manicured hands, their eyes tracking your every step. Someone calls your name, hopeful, desperate for a glance.

You don't stop.

Near the east wing lockers, you see them. Mateo first—leaning against the metal with his arms crossed, jaw tight, dark eyes lifting to meet yours. There's no awe in his gaze. No hunger. Just something cold and knowing that settles in your chest like a stone.

Then Kai, a few feet away, tucking a book into his bag. He looks up. His lips curve into that smile—gentle, warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds.