Chapter Two: The Pull

The air still felt different.

Even as I walked away, my skin prickled with awareness, like something had latched onto me. Like someone was still watching.

I exhaled sharply, shaking it off. Get a grip, Elena.

Claire didn’t notice my distraction as she prattled on beside me, launching into another one of her daily updates on school gossip. I tried to focus—really, I did—but my mind kept circling back.

Jace Wolfe.

The name felt wrong in my head, like I shouldn’t be saying it yet. Like it belonged to someone I already knew.

I slid into my seat in English class, forcing myself to focus. The whiteboard, the students chatting around me, the distant hum of lockers slamming in the hallway—normal things.

Then the door opened.

The hush that fell over the room was almost unnatural.

I knew without looking.

A slow wave of something hot and electric crawled over my skin, the same sensation I’d felt in the hallway. The hairs on my arms rose.

My fingers curled around my pen. Ignore it. Don’t look.

“Class, we have a new student joining us today,” Mr. Lancaster said, flipping through a folder. “Jace Wolfe.”

Murmurs rippled through the classroom.

Ravenwood High wasn’t the kind of school that got new kids often, especially not ones like him.

His footsteps were measured, confident. No hesitation.

Then I heard the scrape of a chair—right beside me.

Of course.

My stomach flipped as he slid into the empty seat next to mine. I could feel him, his presence like an invisible magnet tugging at something deep inside me.

A slow, awful awareness settled in my chest.

I was going to have to sit here, for the rest of class, pretending not to notice the way the air between us felt charged.

“Hey.”

His voice was deeper than I expected—smooth, but with a rough edge, like he wasn’t used to talking much.

I hesitated before turning my head. Up close, he was even more startling. His features were sharp, defined, dangerous. But it was his eyes that got me.

Gold.

Not hazel, not brown—pure molten gold.

I forced myself to speak. “Hi.”

His lips curled—not a smile, not really. A smirk. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Didn’t mean to startle you earlier,” he said, his tone unreadable. “You looked… surprised.”

A chill ran through me.

There was something deliberate in the way he said it. Like he wanted me to know he’d noticed.

I straightened my shoulders. “You didn’t startle me.”

His smirk deepened, but he didn’t push.

Mr. Lancaster launched into his lecture on Shakespeare, but I barely heard a word. Every time Jace shifted beside me, the movement sent a ripple of awareness down my spine. It was like my body knew something my mind didn’t.

Then, midway through class, it happened again.

A slow, creeping warmth at the base of my neck, like a phantom touch.

I froze.

My hand shot up, fingers brushing against my skin. Nothing was there.

My pulse thundered in my ears.

Jace went completely still beside me.

And when I glanced at him, his jaw was clenched, fingers gripping the edge of his desk like he was holding something back.

He felt it too.

Our eyes met, and something in his gaze changed. The smirk was gone. His pupils flared—just for a second—before he dropped his gaze, exhaling sharply like he was struggling for control.

Then, just as quickly, he turned back to his notebook, flipping a page like nothing had happened.

But it had.

Something had.

I wasn’t imagining it.

I wasn’t crazy.

I swallowed hard, looking away, but my hands were still shaking.

Jace Wolfe was hiding something.

And whatever it was, it had something to do with me.

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