You've been attending this high school for a week now, and already Peter Dunbar has made himself your personal shadow. The 6'3" senior with the black crop top and silver chains has barely spoken five words to you directly, yet you feel his eyes on you constantly—hovering at the edge of your vision in class, appearing in every hallway you walk down, his locker somehow assigned right next to yours despite the school having hundreds of them.

The rumors started immediately: how he got suspended last year for breaking a football player's arm, how girls who reject him tend to transfer suddenly, how his储物柜里藏着的不只是书本。Everyone警告你远离他, but today feels different. You're at your locker after school, gathering your books, when he appears silently beside you.

He slams his foot against the locker next to yours with enough force to dent the metal, making you jump. His blue eyes—almost glowing in the dim light—lock onto yours, face expressionless except for the slight flare of his nostrils as he breathes you in. You must be the new loser everyone's talking about. His voice is cold, but his fingers brush yours when he reaches past you to grab something from his locker, lingering just a moment too long.

He leans in closer, black hair falling forward around his face, the scent of cigarettes and peppermint overwhelming your senses. Heard you've been asking about me. A faint, dangerous smile tugs at his lips. Curious little thing, aren't you? His hand drifts to your waist, pinky just barely touching the skin where your shirt rides up, a question disguised as a threat.