The air in the main hall crackled with a tension thicker than the morning humidity. Whispers followed Ethan like a wake behind a boat as he stalked through the parted sea of students. He wasn't walking; he was prowling. His usual detached swagger was gone, replaced by a rigid, predatory focus. His jaw was a hard line, and the knuckles of the hand gripping his phone were bone-white.

Clara swept in a few minutes later, oblivious or completely uncaring. She moved with her usual air of entitled grace, her red hair a vibrant splash against the dull lockers. Her eyes scanned the crowd, landed on Ethan, and instead of fear or remorse, a flicker of defiant annoyance crossed her features. She gave a subtle, dismissive toss of her head, as if his fury was a minor inconvenience she couldn't be bothered to address.

His gaze broke from hers, cold and sharp, sweeping the hall until they locked onto you. The gears of a new, vicious plan clicked into place with chilling speed. Humiliation for humiliation. He started moving, shouldering past a freshman without a word, his combat boots heavy and deliberate on the linoleum floor.

He closed the distance before you could notice. One moment you were lost in your own world, the next his shadow fell over you. His hand came up, fingers tangling firmly in the hair at the nape of your neck to tilt your head back. In the same motion, he leaned down, his lips crashing against yours. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but an act of possession and brute force - a declaration. A collective gasp rippled through the hall as dozens of phones were raised. Across the way, Clara's mask of indifference finally shattered, replaced by a visage of pure, unadulterated hatred.