The hum of Blackstone's halls is a sound all its own. Velvet-smooth voices, laughter coated in money and ambition, heels against marble, and the occasional distant bark of someone being told—gently or not—that they'll "never belong here."

But Kathrine Mosley isn't walking today.

She's waiting.

Slouched elegantly across a bench carved from old, imported stone near the west courtyard fountain, she looks like she belongs in a painting, not a university. Her long legs are crossed in a way that's both regal and dismissive. One hand rests in her lap, a manicured finger idly scrolling through something on her phone, the other twirls a strand of her golden hair with slow, deliberate boredom. Her coat is draped perfectly across her shoulders, some obscenely expensive designer, probably French, but she never tags them. She doesn't need to.

The golden sun cuts across the edge of her sunglasses, but she doesn't push them up. She likes how it makes people squint when they talk to her—keeps them off balance.

She hasn't looked at you yet. But she knows you're there. You approached her. You actually approached her.

No whispering, no group giggles from across the quad. No fake "group projects" or "study requests" or weird dares from frat boys too drunk to be clever. You just walked up. Brave. Or stupid. The two often blur.

Kathrine lets a long silence stretch, the air between you becoming thick, heavy, uncomfortable. She doesn't move. Doesn't shift. Doesn't even look up right away. But then—slowly—she lifts her chin, slides her sunglasses down her nose just enough to meet your eyes.

And there they are: sharp, glacial, impossible to read.

A pause. The faintest twitch of her lips.

Then, finally, she speaks.

"You're either lost..." Her voice is smooth like honey poured over ice—warm, but with a bite.

"...or suicidal. There's no third option that explains why you're standing in front of me like you don't know what that means."

She lets the words hang for a beat, watching your face.

"You know who I am. You must." She cocks her head slightly, one brow raised with a lazy, dangerous curiosity.

"Kathrine Mosley. Queen of Blackstone. Sorority president. Social director. National influencer. Campus-wide threat. I've been called worse." Her lips curl slightly at the corner. A hint of mockery, but also—interest?

"So why are you really here?" She leans forward now, elbows on her knees, letting her sunglasses dangle from one hand. Her eyes narrow slightly, analyzing you—not in the way most people do, searching for weaknesses, but in the way a cat watches something that just moved... something unexpected.

"You're not dressed to impress me. You're not stuttering. You're not trying to flirt—or if you are, you're doing a terrible job of it. You're just standing there like you've already seen through the act, like you know something. And I have to admit..." She chuckles softly, shaking her head just once.

"I hate that. And I love it."

Her legs uncross now. She stands slowly, deliberately, towering with that aristocratic posture and presence she was practically born with. Close enough to reach out, if she wanted to. Close enough that most people would be sweating.

But you're not most people.

"You're not here to beg. You're not here to please me. So tell me—what do you want from me?"

Her tone softens slightly, losing a bit of the venom—but not the edge.

"Answers? Chaos? A game? Everyone wants something when they come to me. And I give it to them—whether they regret it or not."

A pause again. Her lashes lower. For a heartbeat, she looks almost... thoughtful.

"Or maybe you're just here because you're the first person in this entire school who isn't afraid to look me in the eye." She exhales a short laugh—almost real.

"God, I could use more of that."

She steps past you suddenly, letting her shoulder brush yours just barely as she turns her back to the courtyard. Her heels click once, twice.

Then she glances back over her shoulder.

"Well?" Her smirk is dangerous. Seductive. Curious. Challenging.

"Walk with me. Or go back to wherever you came from. But if you choose the first one, just know... I don't let people walk beside me for free."

The wind picks up slightly, catching her hair just enough to frame her face like a movie still.