I walked down the stairs with less enthusiasm than when I first came up. My mind was still buzzing from the conversation with Nyra. Should I have lied about that figure? Who knows if I’ll ever have the chance to bring it up properly.

As I descended the final set of stairs, heading for the lockers, something in the air shifted. A chill ran down my spine, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The voice from before—MOVE—screamed in my head. Time seemed to slow, and my body instinctively jerked back, ready for whatever was coming.

Then, I saw him. The bus kid—scrawny and uncoordinated—lurching forward toward me, his feet slipping on the polished floor before he collided with the ground.

I stared, confused. Why was he attacking me? What the hell did I do to him?

His face twisted as he pushed himself up, wincing from the fall. It was him—the kid who had been gossiping about me on the bus. And now, he was charging at me.

“YOU, KID!” he shouted, his voice loud enough to attract the attention of a few nearby students. I looked around, but no one seemed to care. He was quickly up and rushing toward me again.

Before I could react, the bus kid was on me. He slammed into my throat, knocking the air out of me and slamming me into the lockers. My vision blurred, but I forced a laugh, trying to play it cool.

"Thanks for moving me here. I was about to stand here anyway," I muttered, but my voice barely rose above a croak.

I glanced around quickly, but there was no way out. The bus kid looked at me, rage boiling in his eyes, like a wild animal in a cage. It was the kind of intensity you only saw in people who were desperate for something they couldn’t get. I didn’t know what his problem was, but I knew this wasn’t going to end well.

"Look, man, I’m doing this for your own good. Stay the hell away from her, you hear me?" He gritted his teeth, a wild look in his eyes. His breath reeked of anger and bitterness. I still didn’t understand why people were so hell-bent on pushing me away from Nyra.

I stayed silent, hoping he’d back off, but he wasn’t done yet. With a quick motion, he pulled out a pocketknife, the blade catching the light as it flickered dangerously.

"Just say you want to die instead of letting that freak sink her teeth into you," the bus kid sneered.

I felt my heart drop into my stomach. A knife? Seriously?

Trying to keep things light, I cracked a forced laugh. "Just say she's your girlfriend, and we can move on from this. Or maybe you're just obsessed, huh? It's fine, I won't stand in your way." I was terrified, but I wasn’t about to show it.

My heart pounded. My first day here, and already a knife in my face. I didn’t even know what was happening anymore—was this a joke?

Then everything changed in an instant.

I saw Nyra coming out of nowhere, flying through the air like she was weightless, kicking the bus kid with an elegance that seemed too graceful to be real. My face must’ve shown pure shock as she soared past me, her hair trailing behind her like dark ribbons in the wind. The kick landed with such force that the bus kid went flying backwards, as if propelled by an invisible hand, his knife skittering across the floor.

She landed with the kind of grace you only saw in movies. Not a hair out of place. She brushed herself off with the ease of someone who wasn’t surprised by anything.

"Sorry for coming so late," she said, her smirk tinged with something almost mischievous. "Had some things to take care of."

He slowly got to his feet, clutching his nose, blood trickling from the nostrils. He muttered bitterly, his voice thick with venom.

"That's why you should stay away from freaks like her."

As the bus kid—still clutching his bloody nose—stumbled away, he glared back and muttered, “You’ll regret being around her.”

I stood frozen, watching him disappear around the corner. My pulse was pounding in my ears, and the silence that followed felt deafening. I turned to Nyra, still stunned by everything that had just unfolded.

Her expression was unreadable, but her fists were clenched tight at her sides. Who was this girl?

“Just who are you, Nyra?” I asked, the words escaping before I could think them through.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. Without a word, she walked over to the spot where the bus kid had dropped the knife. The sight of her bending down to pick it up made my stomach churn.

She straightened up and turned back to me, holding the knife out in her hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached toward me. “Here. You might need this.”

I stared at the knife, then at her face. Her eyes looked hollow, distant, as though she was somewhere far away. I didn’t know what scared me more—the fact that she was handing me a knife or the look in her eyes.

I hesitated before taking it, feeling its cold weight as her hand clasped mine for just a second. Why was she giving this to me? Did she think I needed protection? Or... did she think I was harmless? Someone so weak that I’d never be a threat to her? Maybe that’s why she kept me around.

I slid the knife into my pocket, my unease growing. “Thanks,” I muttered, unsure what else to say.

She didn’t respond right away. Her eyes dropped to the floor as she took a deep breath, her jaw tightening. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, hollow, yet filled with a weight that made my chest tighten. “I’m not as great as you think I am, Omari.”

Something in her tone made my skin prickle. It wasn’t just self-doubt; it felt like a warning.

Before I could respond, she continued, “People... don’t usually stick around me for long.” She glanced at me, and for the first time, I saw something raw in her expression. Fear. Regret. Maybe even guilt.

Her words hit me harder than I expected. My mind raced. What does she mean? Did people just leave her behind? Or did they disappear in some other way?

“Tomorrow,” she said abruptly, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Meet me on the roof at the start of lunch. Don’t make me wait.” Her tone was firm, almost commanding, but there was a crack in it, like she was barely holding something together.

We reached the door to my next class, and she stopped, looking at me for a moment. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but then she shook her head. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her steps brisk, her hands shoved into her pockets.

I watched her go, my stomach twisting in knots. She’d saved me—again—and yet the further away she got, the heavier my chest felt.

I pulled the knife out of my pocket and stared at it, the light glinting off the blade. Was this really something I was going to need? And why did she look so sad when she handed it to me?

For the rest of the day, her words echoed in my head, louder than the dull hum of the classroom.

"People don’t usually stick around me for long."

Was she warning me? Or just preparing me for something I wasn’t ready to understand?