The Marked Prey

Jace's words soon become clear, a reminder of how quickly rumors travel around here.

The whispers start before I even reach the lecture hall.  

People keep looking at me, then looking away real quick. Somewhere behind me, a few guys laugh—not a normal laugh, the kind that means they’re talking about you. A girl I don’t even know elbows her friend and points at me, grinning like she knows something I don’t. My neck gets hot, but I don’t let it show. I just keep walking like nothing’s wrong.  

Jace walks beside me, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something tense. “This doesn’t bode well,” he mutters under his breath.  

I don’t answer. I don’t need to.  

The second I step through the door of the lecture hall, it's even worse, in a way that the air in the room isn’t heavy, but the silence before the whispers start is. Like the calm before the storm.

Then it happens — low murmurs, muffled laughter, the shift of eyes trying to act subtle but failing miserably. It washes over me in waves, sharp enough to sting even without knowing the words. I don’t have to hear them to understand. I’ve seen this routine before, just never from this side.

Jace glances at me, eyes flicking toward a group of students gathered by the window, snickering behind their hands. “When a guy like Zane breaks up with you, it’s like a target gets painted on your back. A spot opens up and everyone wants to fill it. Or, at the very least, make sure the previous occupant knows their place.”

I let out a sharp exhale through my nose, more bitter than amused. “So I’m the target now.”

Jace shrugs, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s the price of being Zane’s ex, man. People don’t see you anymore — just the vacancy he left behind.”

I slide into my usual seat, ignoring the way the conversations around me dip into silence before resuming in hushed tones. Jace drops into the chair beside me, shooting me a wary glance. “It'll be OK?”  

My hands curl into fists under the desk, knuckles pale, But I try to appear calm. "It'll be fine, don't worry."

I flip open my notebook, gripping my pen a little too tight. “Peachy.”  

He exhales through his nose. “Look, I get it. Zane’s an ass. But this?” He gestures subtly to the room. “This is just the start. You know how these things go.”  

I do.  

Zane doesn’t just *end* things. He owns them. And if he can’t have me, he’ll make sure no one else wants me either.  

The professor walks in, and the room quiets—mostly. But even as the lecture begins, I catch the glances. The smirks. The way someone two rows ahead leans over to whisper something that makes their friend’s eyes flick to me before they both stifle laughter.  

Jace shifts uncomfortably. “You sure you don’t want to just… lay low for a bit?”  

I don’t answer.  

Because the truth is, I could lay low. I could let Zane have his petty victory, let the rumors run their course until the next scandal takes over.  

But that’s not me.  

And more importantly—that’s exactly what he expects.  

The moment class ends, I’m out of my seat before the professor even finishes dismissing us. Jace scrambles to follow. “Jude—”  

I cut him off. “Where’s Zane’s next class?”

Jace blinks, thrown off. “Shouldn’t you know? He’s your ex. Why?”

I don’t slow down. “Because I’m ending this.”

His steps falter, eyes widening. “You’re not seriously about to—”

But I’m already moving, pace steady, purpose locked in.

If Zane wants a war?

Good.

I’ll make sure he gets one.

The hallway’s packed, bodies shoulder to shoulder, the tide of students pushing in every direction. Jace’s voice cuts through the noise behind me.

“Jude—wait up!”

But I don’t slow. I can’t. Not now.

A second later, the crowd swells, shoving between us, a flood of chatter and backpacks and moving feet. I glance back, but Jace is gone, lost somewhere in the crush of faces.

I could stop. I could wait. But the clock’s ticking, and I know Zane—if I miss him now, I might not get another chance anytime soon.

So I don’t stop. I move.

Pushing through the gaps, slipping past a group of girls taking selfies, past two guys arguing over some game, until—

There.

Zane.

Just ahead, about to step into another lecture hall, flanked by his usual shadows. The same smug stride, the same tilted head like he owns the hallway. Like he owns everything.

My heart hammers against my ribs, hot and sharp, but I lock onto him. Nothing else matters. I move forward, cutting through the space between us, ready to call his name—

—and slam straight into someone.

The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, sending me sprawling backward, arms flailing for balance, but the ground still wins. My back hits the cold floor, a shock shooting up my spine.

The hallway explodes in laughter.

I blink up, chest heaving.

And then I see him.

The guy standing over me, staring down with a grin stretched wide across his face. The same face I saw the day everything shattered.

The one Zane kissed.

The one he cheated on me with.

His mouth curls, all teeth and mock sympathy. “Careful, Jude,” he says, voice loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “You should watch where you put your feet. Never know when there’s a well waiting.”

Laughter rings louder.

He leans down a little, tilting his head like he’s talking to a lost puppy. “Or maybe you should just disappear. Pretty sure you’re not needed around here anymore.”

A fresh wave of laughter crashes over me, sharper this time — meaner. My face burns, my throat tightens, but I can’t move. I can’t even breathe right.

He steps back, still chuckling under his breath, and strolls away like it’s just another ordinary day.

“Remember the name, Alan,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Because if you keep chasing after Zane... you’ll find me waiting on the way.”

I try to stand. My hands push against the floor, my knees shake—but the weight of all those eyes, all that laughter, pins me harder than gravity.

I fall back.

The laughter spikes, rolling over me like static in my ears, like it’ll never end.

And then—

A hand.

Fingers stretch out toward me, steady, waiting.

For a second, I don’t even think. My hand lifts on instinct, the need for something—anything—to pull me out of this mess stronger than whatever p

ride I’ve got left.

And when I finally raise my head, the sight waiting for me knocks the breath from my chest.

It’s Oliver.