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{Not supposed to die here}

The room was too quiet.

The open drawer behind me still hung ajar, like it was holding its breath.

And standing at the doorway—

Was Chase Everett.

Leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, like he’d been watching for a while.

His whole presence filled the room. Tall. Relaxed, but not lazy. His fitted black shirt clung to his frame, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, showing lean muscle and veins that looked like they could snap if he flexed wrong. His dark jeans were a little scuffed at the knees like he didn’t care about keeping clean. And his boots? Heavy. Silent. Dangerous.

But it was his face that froze me.

The sharp cut of his jawline. The faint scar near his eyebrow. Eyes that looked silver one second and storm-grey the next—like lightning before a blackout. And his mouth, the worst part, curled into the kind of half-smile that made you feel like you’d just been dared to do something reckless.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t look surprised.

Just said in a slow, syrupy voice that made my stomach tighten—

“What are you doing here?”

There was no shout. No accusing tone. Just that voice—quiet, calm, but heavy. Like a blade sheathed in velvet.

I froze, heart hammering in my chest.

My fingers gripped the cold chain behind my back tighter.

Say something. Say anything.

“I—I was just looking for something,” I stammered, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. My words came out soft, almost pathetic, and it echoed weird in the silence.

Chase’s eyes flicked from my face to the drawer, then slowly—so slowly—back to me.

“Something,” he repeated, like the word itself tasted suspicious. “In Spencer’s room. At 9 p.m.”

The way he said Spencer’s name made my stomach twist. Not like he was mad. Like he didn’t care. Like Spencer was nothing but a name on a napkin.

I shifted my weight awkwardly, trying to seem casual, but every inch of me screamed caught.

“I wanted to talk to him,” I said. “He’s not in, obviously.”

His brow ticked, amused. “So you broke in? Cute.”

I frowned, heat flushing up my neck. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of his lips twitching. “None of your business.”

Then his gaze slowly dropped—to my left hand.

The one behind my back.

“What’s that?” he asked, casually. Too casually.

“Nothing,” I said too quickly.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, stepping closer, his voice still soft—but firmer now. “I can see the chain.”

I stepped back.

Wrong move.

He tilted his head, eyes locking onto mine. “Hand it over.”

I didn’t move. My fingers clutched the chain harder. The metal bit into my palm.

“No.”

A pause.

His voice lowered to a whisper. “Don’t make me take it.”

I turned, made a dash for the door, but I didn’t even make it two steps.

His hand shot out, fast, grabbing my wrist in one quick motion like he’d done this before. His grip was cold, strong. Iron-like.

“Let me go!” I hissed, yanking. But he didn’t even flinch.

With one swift pull, he yanked the chain from my hand and held it up in the air between us.

The silver glinted against the dim yellow light.

Number 15.

Chase’s lips curved into a smirk. “Number 15? You’re aiming high, huh?”

I wanted to scream. Or punch him. Or both.

Instead I stood there, seething.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Camille,” he added, shaking his head like I was some new discovery. “Breaking and entering? Stealing chains? You’re making moves.”

I spat near his boots. “I’m just trying to survive.”

“Stealing a chain at Avard,” he said, voice suddenly serious, “isn’t survival. It’s a declaration. Of war.”

“Good,” I snapped. “Let him come for me. I’m not scared of Spencer. And you? You’re not exactly his biggest fan either. So what the hell do you want?”

His eyes sparkled.

And then, without warning, he said it.

“I want you.”

I blinked. “What?”

He stepped in closer, so close I could smell the faint hint of smoke and peppermint on his breath.

“I want you to be mine,” he said, his voice lower now. Darker. “Be by my side. Like... a girlfriend.”

The words knocked the breath out of me.

“Are you insane?” I said, taking a step back.

But he followed. Slowly. Intentionally.

“I’m offering you a deal,” he said, tone calm. “You say yes, and I give you something you’ve been chasing since the day you got here.”

His hand lifted the chain slightly.

Then he said the words that made my heart stop—

“A Number 5 chain.”

I stared at him. Eyes wide. “You’re lying.”

He didn’t blink. “I’m not.”

I could barely breathe.

Number 5?

That was elite. Unreachable. The kind of rank people bled for.

“Why me?” I whispered. “We don’t even know each other.”

His smile shifted into something softer—almost sincere. Almost.

“Because you’re not like them,” he said. “You’ve got something the others don’t. Fire. Bite. I’ve been watching you.”

That last sentence sent a chill down my spine.

He noticed.

Smirked.

“And besides,” he added, “being with me has perks. Power. Safety. No one would touch you.”

My fists clenched. I didn’t want protection like that. Not if it came with strings.

“You have three days to decide,” he said finally. His fingers brushed against mine as he dropped the chain in his pocket. The contact sent an unwanted jolt through me.

“Three days, Camille. That’s all I’m giving you.”

“You’re crazy,” I said, my voice shaky.

He winked. “You wish.”

And then he turned and walked out.

Just like that.

No apology. No goodbye. Just the sound of his boots thudding softly down the hallway, the silver chain glinting in his hand as he disappeared into the dark.

I stood there, the silence closing in around me.

My chest ached. My head was a mess.

He took everything—again. And left behind a question I couldn’t stop thinking about:

Why was he even in Spencer’s room to begin with?

Was he watching me?

Was this all part of his game?

I didn’t have answers. Only the burning reminder of his offer and the way he looked at me like I was already his.

Three days.

Just three. Chase Everett was surely on my suspect's list for sure.

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