---

The hallway smelled like stale mop water and cheap air freshener.

Dim lights flickered above, buzzing faintly like they were tired of working too.

My shoes squeaked slightly against the overly waxed floor as I moved past a line of lockers.

Some guy slammed his locker shut right behind me.

I flinched.

Voices swirled around me.

Low whispers.

Sneaky laughs.

A couple of heads turned, and I knew they were talking about me.

Me vs. Spencer.

Apparently, I was now this week’s main event.

Whatever. Let them watch.

Let them whisper.

This school was rotting from the inside out.

And the deeper I looked, the more I hated it.

The way the principal brushed it off.

The way Spencer smirked like he owned the place.

The way they looked at me like I was the problem.

My blood was boiling just thinking about it.

I turned a corner and spotted Archer—

Leaning against a locker, arms crossed, that usual unreadable look on his face.

His bag was slung over his shoulder like always, but my eyes caught something new—

A split on his bottom lip.

It was small, but fresh. Red.

I winced.

Spencer hit him too.

Because of me.

I slowed down.

He pushed off the locker and walked over, long strides eating the space between us.

“What did the principal say?” he asked, voice low but direct.

I shrugged, tugging at the strap of my bag.

“He’s a total idiot,” I muttered, blowing out a deep breath.

The air was slightly cooler in this hallway, but not enough to fix the heat crawling up my neck.

“You shouldn’t have stepped in.”

Archer chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly.

“Oh please. You looked like you were about to claw his face off.”

I scoffed.

“Are people always this shitty here?”

He nodded slowly.

“Spencer’s family owns half the town. Sullivan wouldn’t cross him even if he set the cafeteria on fire.”

Disgust curled in my stomach.

We walked outside.

The moment sunlight hit my skin, I exhaled for real.

It was warm. Real. Clean.

Not like the plastic, buzzing chaos of the school halls.

There was a wooden bench off to the side of the building, half peeling and sun-bleached.

We sat. It groaned under us.

A few students loitered nearby, voices drifting lazily through the breeze.

It was one of those rare quiet pockets of the day where the school didn’t feel like it wanted to eat you alive.

I glanced at him.

“What got you in here?”

“Gang fight,” he said casually, like he was reciting a weather report.

“Got arrested. Now I’m here.”

I blinked. “For real?”

Archer just shrugged.

“Not much of a fighter though.”

I smirked.

“Says the guy who jumped in during a cafeteria brawl.”

He snorted.

“You? You’re the real legend now. Girl took on Spencer? That’s gonna echo for weeks.”

Before I could answer, a loud voice broke the moment.

“CAMILLE!!!”

I looked up to see Penn bounding over, a grin stretched across her face and her long locs swinging as she jogged up.

She was practically vibrating.

“Oh my God, did you actually punch Spencer?!”

I sighed, already regretting this.

Penn slid next to Archer like she belonged there.

“You’re either brave or insane,” she chirped, draping her arm across Archer’s shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow at me like do you know this one?

“We’re roommates,” Penn announced before I could explain.

Then to me:

“You punched Number 3. I mean... girl. You trying to get jumped?”

“What’s so bad about that?” I grumbled.

They both blinked at me like I’d just said I liked cafeteria meatloaf.

Penn straightened a bit.

“Okay, listen. There are five people in this school even Sully can’t touch.”

“Sully?” I echoed.

“Principal Sullivan,” Archer cut in. “Nickname. We all use it.”

“Right,” Penn nodded. “The Top Five. Number One through Five. They come from real money. They’re untouchable. They make the rules, and the rest of us pretend it’s fine.”

“And you fought Number Three,” Archer added with a low chuckle.

Penn grinned like it was hilarious.

“And the craziest part? Number One actually stepped in.”

Chase.

Chase Everett.

The boy with cold eyes and sharp timing.

The one who barely looked at anyone unless it benefitted him.

“He never does that,” Archer said, shaking his head.

Penn leaned toward me, voice suddenly soft.

“You need a chain, Camille. Like... fast. Or people are going to treat you like an open target.”

I sighed, the reality of this place pressing heavier on my chest.

“And how am I supposed to get one? Fight for it?”

Archer’s mouth curled into a smirk.

“You could always steal one.”

Penn lit up beside him. “Exactly!”

“Are you guys crazy?”

“Only a little,” Archer said, deadpan.

“We’re not saying rob just anyone.”

Penn leaned in like she had a secret.

“Spencer keeps a stash. Unclaimed chains. Locked in his room.”

My jaw tightened.

“You want me to steal from Spencer. Spencer. The guy who wants me dead.”

“He won’t know it’s you,” Archer said.

“Unless you’re loud and stupid.”

I paused.

The idea was reckless.

But it felt... right.

A way to flip the script.

To fight back.

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

Penn grinned like Christmas came early.

“He goes to the gym at 9. Every single night. You’ll have a clean 30 minutes.”

Archer gave me a serious look.

“Be careful. He’s not someone you wanna piss off twice.”

I nodded.

“But if I pull it off, I stop being the prey. And maybe…”

I swallowed.

“Maybe I can finally start digging into what happened to my brother.”

---

That Night…

Everyone was supposed to be asleep.

But my heart was wide awake.

The hallway was cold and quiet. The floor creaked under my sneakers.

I stood in front of Spencer’s dorm, my gloved fingers curling around the lockpick Archer had handed me earlier.

Penn was posted at the far end of the hall.

She gave me a thumbs up.

“He’s at the gym,” she whispered. “You’ve got thirty minutes.”

I took a breath.

The lock clicked after a few tense seconds.

The door opened with a slow creak.

His room smelled like body spray, gym socks, and microwave leftovers.

Gross.

Clothes were scattered across the floor.

Couch cushions shoved halfway off.

A massive TV glowed silently in the corner, casting the room in a faint blue haze.

I crept in, trying not to breathe too loud.

The dresser was where Penn said it would be.

I opened the top drawer and immediately smelled the faint tang of metal.

Chains.

Six of them.

They glinted in the dim light like trophies.

I spotted one—Number 15.

Not flashy, not too low. Just enough to matter.

I grabbed it and slipped it into my pocket.

That’s when I heard it—

The faint creak of the bathroom door.

Footsteps on tile.

I froze.

No. No no no.

I turned slowly.

Chase Everett stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his neck, damp hair, eyes cold.

He looked at me.

Then at the open drawer.

Then back at me.

His voice was low. Smooth. Dangerous.

“What are you doing here?”

My throat tightened.

I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

I had just been caught.

By the wrongest person imaginable.