Novels by Terser Ben-Anzua

Ari's POVIt had been nearly a week since Thorne disappeared.Seven days marked by a silence so thick it seemed to press against my skin, squeeze around my chest, and settle in my bones. Seven days where the world kept moving, but I felt frozen in place—adrift in a space that grew colder with every passing hour.Each morning, I woke with a fragile thread of hope knotted deep inside me. Maybe today, I told myself, maybe he’d be there again—leaning casually against the doorframe, or waiting silently in the hallway just for me. Maybe I’d catch the faintest trace of his scent, that sharp tang of citrus and something darker, something dangerous, clinging to the air like a promise.But day after day, the halls remained empty. The silence stretched, endless and hollow.The dorm rooms buzzed with life outside my door—laughing groups, slamming lockers, the scrape of shoes on tile—but none of it reached me. It was like living underwater, muted and distant.Without Thorne, the world was sharper.

Thorne’s POVThe room was a cage disguised as a sanctuary. Sterile white walls stretched up to a ceiling heavy with silence, broken only by the steady hum of the ventilation system—mechanical, indifferent, and cold as the steel chair Thorne was strapped to.His wrists ached against the unforgiving restraints, but it was the invisible chains—the ones wrapped around his will—that weighed the heaviest.The door slid open with a crisp click, sharp and precise, slicing through the quiet like a knife.Two figures entered, moving with a grace so polished it was almost mocking. His mother’s smile was a practiced curve, sweet on the surface but venomous underneath. His father followed behind, arms crossed, eyes calculating.“Darling,” his mother purred, voice dripping with honeyed poison. “How was your little vacation?”Thorne didn’t answer. He refused.Her smile faltered just a fraction—a flicker of amusement in the cold air.His father leaned against the far wall, gaze sharp as broken glass.

Ari’s POVThe corridor was a narrow squeeze between the dorm blocks, the dim lights flickering like they were ready to give out at any second. Paint peeled from the walls in long, curling strips, the floor sticky beneath Ari’s shoes from some long-forgotten spill. Every sound echoed louder here, bouncing off the cracked tiles and empty stairwells, making his heartbeat thunder in his ears.He kept his head low, hoping to slip past unnoticed. But in this part of the dorm, whispers traveled faster than footsteps.The laughter started soft, almost casual, then grew sharper, colder.Ari’s skin prickled as the shadows shifted. The air thickened around him—heavy and tense, like a storm about to break.Without warning, a rough hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around.There they were. A tight cluster of predators—older students with smirks that didn’t reach their eyes and teeth sharp enough to match their reputations.Their presence was a wall that closed in too fast, leaving no

Thorne’s POVIt starts like a whisper in a crowded room, something so quiet it almost slips past notice.The way Ari’s body no longer tenses when my fingers graze his wrist—no more sharp flickers of fear or flinching away like I’m a threat.His breath, once shallow and hurried, now slows, steady and calm, like a river finally finding its way around the rocks instead of crashing against them.It’s in his eyes, too—the way they flicker with something new. Not quite trust yet, but the spark of it—like a tiny flame daring to ignite inside a cold, cautious shell.---We walk side by side through the tangled maze of dorm hallways, the sound of our footsteps mingling with the distant laughter and chatter of other students.I no longer need to grip his wrist tightly to keep him close. Instead, I let my hand rest lightly on his forearm, fingers brushing softly, gentle as a feather’s touch.He lets me.Sometimes, when the hall grows quiet for a breath, I reach up and run my hand through his hai

Ari’s POVThe fading sunlight paints the dorm room in warm, tired colors, but inside me, a storm brews, loud and relentless.His touch—it’s still there. A ghost that won’t let go.I close my eyes and try to will it away, but the memory clings tighter than I expect.The brush of his fingers against my wrist, light as a feather but sharp enough to leave a mark.The way his hand moved to tuck that stubborn curl behind my ear, so effortlessly like it was the most natural thing in the world.And that whisper—You belong—soft, almost sacred, pressing into my skin like a secret carved into stone.I don’t know if it’s comfort or confusion that makes my chest tighten like this.Maybe both.---I want to push it away.Tell myself it was a mistake. A moment that slipped through the cracks of a new school’s chaos.But my body betrays me every time.I catch myself reaching for the glove beneath my pillow, tracing the worn leather like it holds answers I’m too scared to say out loud.The faint scent

Thorne’s POVMorning doesn’t come gentle on this campus—it crashes in with the sharp scrape of chairs, footsteps in the hall, the distant echo of voices waking too early. But I’m already awake, alert long before the sun filters through the blinds.He’s out there, somewhere beneath the sleepy sky, moving through his day in that quiet, anxious way that twists my gut tighter every time I watch. I know he spent last night clutching my glove, that small piece of leather tied to me like a secret rope pulling him deeper into my orbit.---I spot him before he sees me, hunched over a book in the far corner of the library, the same spot he always chooses—the one where he can disappear but still catch every sound. His hair tumbles over his eyes, ears flicking as if they catch more than he admits.I cross the room, footsteps silent, closing the gap until the heat of my presence settles like a weight between us.“Morning,” I murmur, voice low and rough around the edges.He startles but doesn’t mo