I’ve survived hand-to-hand combat in a training facility nicknamed The Pit.
I’ve held my breath for over two minutes while defusing a pressure plate mine.
I’ve walked into a room with five men, three weapons, and one way out.

But somehow… this is worse.

College.

It’s loud. It’s bright. It’s full of questions I can’t answer and people who want things I can’t give.

And him.

Lucas Monroe.

The asset.

The target.

The reason I’m here.

The boy with the reckless grin and the hurricane presence. He’s loud and golden and impossible to ignore. And now that I’ve memorized every angle of his file, every possible threat vector around him, I can say with full certainty—

He is so much worse in person.

Because he’s human.

And worse than that—he’s magnetic.

I see the way people react to him. How girls lean in. How guys mimic his posture like it might make them more interesting. He walks into a room like it owes him something, and it gives it to him every time.

He shouldn’t notice me.

And mostly, he doesn’t.

But then he does.

And every time his eyes land on me, I feel like I’ve just been caught in a lie.

I see him in the quad—ten seconds too long.
Then at lunch—he looks. I look away.
Then the library.
Then again.
And again.

And I tell myself I’m not following him. I have to track his routes. His habits. The exposure risks. The potential attack points. This is protection, not obsession.

Still, I check my reflection before walking into Intro to Political Theory. I adjust my hoodie. Tuck my hair tighter behind my ears.

And when I see him in the third row—feet up, grin lazy, head tilted back like the ceiling might owe him a compliment—I almost turn around.

Almost.

I take a seat three rows behind. Close enough to intervene. Far enough not to be noticed.

It doesn’t work.

He sees me.

His head tips just slightly to the side. His smile changes.

Wes whispers something beside him, and Lucas doesn’t even look away. Just keeps staring, like I’m some puzzle he can’t stop picking at.

I don’t blink.

Then the professor says it.

“Group project. You’ll be assigned partners. No trades, no switches.”

I already feel it in my spine.
I know what’s about to happen.

“Monroe… and Rae.”

I feel it, like a bullet to the ribs.

Lucas turns in his seat. Slowly. Deliberately.

His smirk is the kind of thing that should be illegal on school property.

“Well,” he says. “Isn’t that just the most beautiful tragedy?”

I don’t respond.
Don’t flinch.
Don’t look at him.

But I feel it.

That tension twisting itself into something worse.

Something dangerous.