Chapter 9: Locker

The entire day, I feel watched. A presence follows me. It’s like the ghost of my house is right here, looking at me constantly.

There is a presence. Persistent. Lingering.

“I did have a strange thought yesterday,” Sam says suddenly as we walk toward our lockers. His voice pulls me from the spiral in my head. “What’s that?” I sigh, rubbing tired fingers over my eyes. Tessa links her arm through mine and leans into my shoulder, yawning dramatically. “I swear if classes get any earlier, I’m going to simply pass away,” she mutters. I sag gratefully against her warmth.

“I was missing university,” Sam continues with theatrical seriousness. We all stare at him. “Truly,” he insists, placing a dramatic hand over his heart as we reach the lockers. “I was excited to come back here.”

His locker slams open with a metallic bang. “How wrong was I?” he groans. “Me, missing lessons? Who was I kidding?”

Delilah snorts, leaning against the lockers beside him. “I did tell you that you were going to miss your drunken nights.”

My eyes drift down the hallway without meaning to. Students pass in clusters, backpacks slung over shoulders, voices overlapping into a constant hum. Nothing unusual. Nothing threatening. And yet the prickling sensation at the back of my neck refuses to fade.

I shake it off and open my locker.

Then everything stops. My thoughts stall so abruptly it feels like someone pulled a plug from the wall.

“What… what is that?” Sam asks slowly beside me.

The conversation dies instantly as the others lean closer. I can’t speak for a second. My brain struggles to process what I’m seeing.

What the fuck.

Inside my locker sits a bottle of red wine.

My favorite.

I hardly drink, but when I do, it’s always red. Not the cheap kind either—the deep, rich kind that tastes like dark berries and warm earth. This particular bottle is from a tiny winery in southern France. Zara and I discovered it two summers ago during a wine tour through the countryside. The vineyard had been hidden between rolling green hills, the air thick with sunlight and the smell of grapes. The owner poured us glasses while telling stories about his grandfather, and by the end of the tour we had bought ten bottles to bring home.

Ten memories.

Ten promises to only open them on special occasions.

The last bottle had been opened three weeks ago.

For Zara’s birthday.

I stare at the bottle for too long. How did this get in my locker? Is it from Zara? But how did she get it from France? The winery doesn't do international shipping. But why leave it in my locker?

It can't be Zara.

My hand flies up to grab the bottle, but I stop mid-air when I spot the second abnormality.

A necklace hangs around the neck of the bottle, draped carefully like it was placed there with deliberate attention. The gold chain glints beneath the fluorescent lights, and suspended from it is a small black gemstone.

The four of us lean closer.

The stone is carved into the shape of a bird, its wings slightly spread.

“A raven,” Sam whispers.

We all pull back slowly, staring at my locker as if it might reveal more secrets if we wait long enough. Around us the hallway buzzes with students leaving class, lockers slamming, voices echoing. But inside our little circle everything feels strangely quiet.

“Who is it from?” Delilah asks carefully. “Is there a note?”

I lift the bottle out of the locker and search every inch of the metal interior. The shelves. The corners. The back panel.

“Nothing,” I say quietly.

Tessa gently lifts the necklace, letting the pendant swing between her fingers. “That’s stunning,” she murmurs.

Sam leans closer, inspecting the craftsmanship with raised eyebrows. “Stunning and expensive,” he adds with an impressed click of his tongue. “Look at that setting. That’s not cheap.”

“And kind of creepy,” Delilah mutters. She glances over her shoulder down the hallway. “Who has access to your locker?”

We all instinctively scan the crowd around us. Familiar faces move past without slowing, too absorbed in their own conversations to pay attention to us. But the sensation of being watched hasn’t disappeared. If anything, it feels sharper now, like someone standing just outside my field of vision.

“No one,” I answer. My grip tightens around the bottle as I try to remember if I ever gave someone the code. Maybe at a party. Maybe when I wasn’t paying attention.

“Does it matter?” Sam suddenly says.

We all look at him.

“What?” I ask.

He grins slowly. “Our little Raven has a secret admirer. One bold enough to break into her locker to leave a bottle of imported wine and a personalized necklace.” His gaze flicks to the pendant again, clearly impressed. “And something tells me that necklace isn’t gold-plated. That’s the real deal.”

I look down at the tiny black bird again. My fingers trace its wings. The stone is smooth and cool beneath my touch, but the carving is incredibly detailed, the shape elegant and deliberate.

Beautiful.

Too beautiful for a prank.

“Maybe a little creepy,” Delilah says as she shuts her locker with a clang. “Why not just ask her on a date like a normal person? Why break into her personal stuff?”

“Maybe it’s from a woman,” Sam offers suddenly, plucking my book out of my hands before I can protest and stuffing it back into my locker. “And she’s just scared to come out.”

The three of us stare at him.

He shrugs like he’s just delivered a perfectly reasonable theory. “What? That could actually be true. Any ladies you talked to this summer that seemed interested?”

Tessa tilts her head thoughtfully while she lifts the necklace from the bottle. The gold chain glints as she holds it up, the tiny raven catching the fluorescent lights like a drop of midnight. Before I can stop her, she steps closer and reaches behind my neck.

“No,” I say quickly. “No, I don’t want to wear it.”

Her hands pause midair.

“Why?” she asks, genuinely confused. “It suits you.”

I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable with the weight of everyone’s attention. “I just feel weird wearing it when I don’t know who it’s from. I could walk past this person and not even know it’s them.” My eyes drift down the hallway again without meaning to. “What if it’s some psychopath?”

Tessa’s hands slowly fall back to her sides.

“Well,” Sam cuts in brightly, clearly determined not to let the mood sour. He grabs the wine bottle straight out of my hands before I can react. “We can still drink the wine. Save it for my house party!”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not taking this special wine to your house party,” I say flatly. “It will go to waste.”

He clicks his tongue in clear disapproval. “A house party is not a waste.”

“It is when half the people there drink whatever’s in front of them.”

Sam ignores that entirely. His grin widens mischievously. “And maybe your admirer will be there. I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s secretly in love with you. Maybe we can figure this mystery out ourselves.”

I shake my head at him, but a small knot of unease tightens in my stomach.

Someone out there knows too much about me.

I take the necklace from Tessa and drop it into my bag. The gold chain disappears between my books with a soft clink. The wine bottle follows, and for a moment I just stare at it resting inside the bag.

So strange.

I don’t know whether I should feel flattered… or terrified.

The moment I reach to close my locker, something shifts beside me.

It’s subtle. Almost nothing.

But my body notices before my brain does.

A presence.

It brushes against my awareness like a whisper against bare skin. My spine straightens automatically, every nerve suddenly alert. Something inside me insists that I look. It’s not even a thought—it’s instinct.

So I turn my head.

Mr. Gorgeous.

Mr. Madden.

A strange ripple moves down my spine, somewhere between discomfort and awareness. I don’t even know why. He’s not looking at me. In fact, he doesn’t seem aware of me at all.

He’s walking beside Nick.

Something in my chest sinks.

Of course he is.

The two most attractive men in this entire university walking side by side like they stepped straight out of some absurd fashion campaign. Heads turn as they pass. Conversations pause. A few girls near the lockers actually stop mid-sentence to stare.

Nick absolutely thrives on it. He walks like he owns the hallway, animatedly talking while gesturing with his hands. His voice carries just enough to make sure people notice him. His dark hair is perfectly styled, his smile bright and arrogant as he scans the crowd for reactions.

Madden, on the other hand, looks like he belongs to a different world entirely.

Tall. Dark. Effortlessly composed.

His shoulders are relaxed, his stride slow and confident. He listens to Nick with half-interest, occasionally giving a brief nod, but his expression remains calm and distant—like the noise of the hallway can’t quite reach him.

Even from here, there’s something dangerous about him.

Something controlled.

Something that makes the air feel heavier.

Nick’s gaze sweeps across the lockers—and then he spots us.

A nasty grin stretches across his face instantly.

My stomach tightens.

I’m vaguely aware of a hand grabbing my arm. Someone slams my locker shut with a violent clang, the sound snapping through my thoughts like a whip. The next thing I know I’m being yanked backward.

Delilah.

She’s practically vibrating with fury beside me, her nails digging into my sleeve as she drags me away. A low hiss escapes her like an angry cat.

Nick’s grin widens. He's clearly enjoying the reaction he's caused.

My nostrils flare with sudden rage.

Madden still hasn’t looked at us. Not once. But I don't care.

I could murder Nick.

Sam grabs my shoulder before I can even think about doing something stupid. He steers me away firmly while Tessa moves ahead of us toward the exit.

I link my arm with Delilah as we walk, partly to steady her and partly to stop myself from turning around again.

The moment we step outside, the fresh air hits my face like a slap.

Cold. Sharp. Real.

“Can I stab him, please?!” Delilah bursts out the second we’re outside.

Her voice echoes across the courtyard, full of pure, unfiltered fury.

“It seems like he’s everywhere!” she continues, pacing angrily. “Every corner I turn—he’s there! Lunch? He’s there. The toilets? He’s there. The lockers? Again!”

She lets out a frustrated huff and pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s genuinely in pain.

“I want to disappear,” she mutters. “I never want to see his stupid face again. I can’t believe he’s always with that fucking teacher.”

Sam, Tessa, and I exchange quick looks.

Without a word, we all pull her into a hug.

Delilah melts into it immediately, her forehead pressing against my shoulder.

“Can we switch universities?” she mumbles into my hair.

“Just one more year, D,” Tessa whispers gently.

Delilah groans miserably.

“I could really use a glass of that red wine.”

I snort softly and reach into my bag. When I pull the bottle out and place it into her hands, she leans back in surprise.

“I didn’t mean that,” she says.

“Take it,” I tell her, stepping back. “You need it more than I do.”

She stares at the bottle like it might explode.

“Just don’t drink and drive,” I add.