The Character Judge.

(KAIRA'S POV)

I knew that voice before I even turned around.

It was impossible not to.

It didn’t matter how many times I tried to deny it, Slade Horton’s voice was imprinted in my head.

I turned slowly, my heart pounding so loudly that I was sure Cameron could hear it.

Slade stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He was wearing his usual black leather jacket, his dark hair falling carelessly across his forehead. His green eyes flickered between me and Cameron, and something in them made my stomach tighten.

"Makaira ," he repeated, his voice cool and smooth. "I've been looking for you."

I blinked. He'd never called me by my full name before. It sounded strange coming from his lips. Almost... intimate.

"What do you want?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

Slade's gaze shifted to Cameron. He looked him up and down slowly, deliberately, like he was assessing a threat. Cameron, to his credit, didn't flinch.

"We were just heading out," Cameron said, his tone casual but firm. "Can this wait?"

"No," Slade said flatly. "It can't."

I glanced at Cameron, then back at Slade. The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I have been asked to bring you home. We must leave now:” He announced like it was information that I should have known.

“You know each other well?” Cameron said still giving Slade a suspicious look.

“Yes we do.” I said, “I’m sorry, I have to go but I'll catch up with you tomorrow," I said quickly.

Cameron's jaw tightened. "Kaira—"

"It's fine." I forced a smile. "Really."

He didn't look convinced. But after a long moment, he nodded. "Okay. But if you need anything, you have my number."

I didn't have his number. I wasn't even sure he had mine. But I nodded anyway, grateful for the escape route he was offering.

Cameron shot Slade one last look before walking away. I watched him go, feeling a strange mix of relief and dread.

When I turned back, Slade was already moving closer.

"What do you want?" I asked again, stepping back instinctively.

His eyes followed my movement. "Who is he?"

"What?"

"The guy." He stopped inches away, close enough that I could smell his cologne. "Who is he?"

I swallowed. "His name is Cameron. He's new. He's in the Ink Club."

Then I bit my cheek hating the way I quickly folded.

This was not the plan, Kaira.

"Interesting." His voice was flat, but there was something dangerous underneath. "And how do you know him?"

I lifted my chin, trying to match his confidence. "Why do you care?"

His eyes flickered. For a moment, I saw something I couldn't quite name. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual cold indifference.

"I don't care," he said. "But my father asked me to make sure you got home safely. So, let’s go.”

I stared at him. "Your father asked you?"

"Yes."

"Then why were you watching me from the hallway?"

He didn't answer. His jaw tightened.

"You were watching me," I pressed. "You saw us walking together. You followed us out here. You sent Cameron away." I took a shaky breath. "And now you're telling me this is about your father?"

"Believe whatever you want," he said, turning away. "Come or don't."

He started walking. I stood there for a moment, caught between anger and confusion. Then, against every instinct screaming at me, I followed.

The walk to the car was silent. Slade walked ahead of me, his long strides forcing me to hurry to keep up. I didn't try to speak. I didn't think I could.

When we reached the car, he opened the door and gestured for me to get in. I hesitated, then climbed inside. He got in on the other side, and the driver pulled away without a word.

The silence in the car was suffocating. I pressed my back against the seat, staring out the window, desperate to put distance between us. But there was nowhere to go.

"He's not good for you," Slade said finally.

I turned to look at him. "What?"

"Cameron. He's not good for you." He repeated. “He’s acting weird.”

I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "And you are one to judge character. You, who humiliated me in front of the entire class? You, who told me I was beneath you? You, who kissed me and then told me it was a mistake?"

His hands tightened on the seat. "I didn't say I was. I just said he wasn’t."

"Then why do you care?"

He didn't answer. He just stared straight ahead, his jaw tight.

"I know what you're doing," I whispered. "You push me away. You tell me I'm nothing. Then you show up and act like you have some claim over me. But you don't, Slade. You have no claim."

"Maybe not." His voice was barely audible. "But I can't stand the thought of someone else..."

He stopped. His hands clenched into fists.

"Someone else what?" I demanded.

He turned to face me, and for the first time, I saw the mask crack. His eyes were burning with something raw and real and terrifying.

"Someone else touching you," he said, his voice rough. "Someone else looking at you like he has a right to."

I couldn't breathe. "Why does that bother you?"