I took a step in. Then another.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Everything was fine. The students were chatting among themselves. A girl in the back barked out a laugh, another followed.

It was just a normal classroom.

I mentally chastised myself. I must have been imagining things. This was a normal classroom in a normal school. Exactly as Dad had said, small town people who rarely met newcomers.

Feeling lighter, my steps growing more confident, I walked down the aisle.

The murmur died instantly.

Every head turned in unison, so synchronized it struck straight at my gut.

Eyes locked onto me like a trap snapping shut. The suddenness of it stole the air from my lungs. I could feel their stares like fingers pressing into my skin, mapping me, measuring me, weighing something I didn't understand.

I kept my face blank through sheer stubbornness.

Looking back felt like stepping into a game whose rules I didn't know, so I aimed my gaze toward the front of the room, where the teacher was just entering, fixing onto him like a lifeline.

He walked in carrying a stack of books, broad-shouldered and immaculately put together, his beard trimmed neat and sharp. He turned slowly toward me. As his gaze met mine, his pupils caught the fluorescent light and reflected it back in a way that, for a split second, made them seem to glow.

A trick of the light. Nothing more.

His mouth curved into a smile that looked practiced rather than genuine.

"Ah," he said, his voice deep and smooth, vibrating faintly in my ribs. "You must be Kelsey Blackwell."

The way he said my last name, as if it carried weight and history, made my stomach knot.

"Yes," I managed. My throat felt dry, my voice too small for the room.

Something shifted in the air. Glances lingered for a heartbeat longer before peeling away, shoulders straightening, spines aligning. It felt as though the classroom itself was rearranging around me.

The teacher set the books down with careful precision. "Welcome," he said. "My name is Mr. Varga. We're in the middle of a unit, but I'm sure you can catch up quickly."

I nodded, because there wasn't a better option.

He gestured toward an empty desk near the back. "You can take that seat."

The walk felt like crossing a stage. The wooden floor squealed beneath my sneakers, the sound far too loud in the sudden quiet. I kept my gaze fixed ahead, knuckles whitening around the strap of my backpack.

When I reached the chair, I set my bag down and slid into the seat. The metal legs groaned softly.

A few students flinched, almost imperceptibly. Some heads turned in my direction again.

Pretending not to notice, I pulled my notebook out, my hands steady only because I forced them to be. The pencil felt slick between my fingers.

Behind me, someone inhaled. A long, deep intake of breath that felt deliberate.

The fine hairs on my arms rose, reacting to something my mind couldn't quite process. I closed my eyes briefly and forced myself to breathe. I needed to get it together.

It's a small town, I reminded myself. They're weird. They're bored. They're staring because I'm new.

Still, the prickling sensation refused to leave the back of my neck.

Mr. Varga turned to the board and launched into the lesson, writing something about logarithms. The marker squeaked against the whiteboard. The class followed along obediently, sitting too still, too straight.

That was what unsettled me more than the staring, though I couldn't have said why.

I tried to copy the notes, but my attention snagged on a boy by the window who stared at the board without blinking. Then, as if he remembered himself, he blinked twice in quick succession.

And then there was the whispering.

Quiet, too quiet for me to catch more than fragments drifting past.

I heard my last name once. Maybe twice.

I thought I heard the word human, but I must have been mistaken. It sounded like a hushed insult, followed by something that began with blood and trailed off.

I tightened my grip on my pencil. I was getting in my own head. These people weren't onto me. I was imagining things.

Ten minutes into the lesson, the squeal of hinges announced the classroom door opening.

It was a normal interruption, but the effect it had on the room was strange.

Like a chain reaction, every student's attention flicked toward the doorway in one smooth wave. They didn't seem startled or annoyed.

They were alert.

I followed their gazes until I saw a boy standing in the doorway.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair messy as if he'd run a hand through it one too many times, or stood in the wind too long. His face was calm, almost bored, but his eyes swept the room with a quick, practiced assessment before settling on Mr. Varga.

He looked older than most of the students, or perhaps it was simply the way he carried himself, like he owned the air around him.

Mr. Varga's expression didn't change, but something in his posture did. He took a small step back, lowering his chin by a fraction.

"You're late," Mr. Varga said, though his voice lacked the sharpness I would have expected.

The boy shrugged one shoulder. "Had to handle something."

Mr. Varga studied him for a beat longer than necessary, then inclined his head toward an empty seat two rows over from mine. "All right. Take a seat."

The boy stepped inside, closing the door behind him. As he walked down the aisle, students shifted to make room without being asked, not much, just enough.

His gaze snapped to me as he passed, dark amber eyes narrowing with an intensity that felt uncomfortably close to being branded into my skin. Something in his posture stiffened then relaxed so fast I wasn't sure if I imagined it.

I looked away, realizing only then that I had stopped breathing. I didn't want him to look at me. Quite frankly, I didn't understand why I felt anything at all. And it unnerved me.

He reached his desk and sat with an effortless smoothness, dropping his bag onto the floor and leaning back, one arm draped over the chair behind him like the class bored him.

His gaze flicked toward me once more, nostrils flaring briefly, before he turned his head away.

Mr. Varga continued the lesson, but the room felt different now.

As if I was no longer the only gravitational pull inside it.