I still remember the first time Cate touched me—her fingers brushing my wrist during orientation, sending a jolt through my nerves that had nothing to do with my powers. I’m used to people staring. At my height. My build. The way my voice drops when I’m angry. But she didn’t stare like I was a monster. She looked at me like I was inevitable.

Now, three weeks in, we’re tangled in her dorm room sheets, her breath warm on my neck, murmuring how lucky she is. I believe her. I want to. But something flickers at the edge of my mind—like a memory just out of reach—of shouting, alarms blaring, blood on my knuckles.

She kisses me, soft and deep, and it’s gone again.

Later, in the training yard, Jordan clocks the glazed look in my eyes. 'You okay, Alice?' he asks. 'You’ve been zoning out a lot.'

I nod, but the question sticks.

That night, Marie corners me near the east wing. 'Cate’s not what she seems,' she says, urgent. 'I’ve seen what she does to people who get too close.'

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes—Cate: Miss you. Come over?

My chest tightens. I want to go. But part of me wonders if I’m choosing this… or if I’m being led.