CHAPTER 7
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Dune and Christine took seats at the back of the classroom, strategically choosing the ones closest to the window. From there, they had a perfect view of the garden below, its lush greenery offering a brief illusion of peace.
They sat chatting about what their first day might be like, with Christine rambling about potential clubs and hot upperclassmen while Dune occasionally glanced out the window, eyes trailing the garden paths.
Classes didn't start until 10 AM — it was only 9:45.
At the front of the room, the pink-haired girl sat like she ruled the place, her entourage flanking her like bodyguards. She kept shooting icy glares toward them, lips curled in distaste. Christine, never one to back down, returned the hostility with a scowl, and soon enough, it devolved into a full-blown staring competition.
Neither side broke until the classroom door creaked open, and a man walked in.
He introduced himself as Professor Kael. Young, sharp-eyed, with sharp cheekbones and an aura that hummed with danger, he didn't look like a typical lecturer. He carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who had seen — and done — far worse than grade papers.
The moment he stepped into the room, Dune felt it.
A pull.
Something ancient and unpleasant stirred in his chest, the same feeling he got when he was near something not quite human. But this wasn't just any supernatural presence — it felt familiar, like a faded memory trying to claw its way back into focus.
During roll call, Kael's gaze lingered on Dune a beat too long. The professor's eyes, dark and predatory, pinned Dune in place, and a faint headache bloomed behind his temples — the telltale sign of his suppressed abilities trying to surface.
He clenched his jaw, forcing it down.
The class dragged on, tension hanging thick in the air. The moment the lecture ended, Dune shot to his feet, grabbing his things in a rush to leave.
Christine hurried after him, sensing the shift in his mood. "What's up with you?" she whispered, concern lacing her voice, but before Dune could answer, they were surrounded.
A swarm of students gathered around them, some genuinely curious, others outright hostile.
"Are you an albino?" one guy asked, leaning in too close.
"Are your eyes fake?"
"What even are you?"
Christine's patience wore thin within seconds, her grip on her bag tightening like she was ready to swing it like a weapon. Noticing the sparks of her brewing rage, Dune grabbed her wrist and tugged her through the crowd before she could start breaking bones.
After slipping past the mob of gawking students like fugitives, they finally emerged into an empty hallway, the noise fading behind them.
"Ugh, I was this close to drop-kicking someone," Christine muttered, rubbing her temples.
"I know," Dune replied, rubbing his wrists like the pressure of the crowd still lingered. "That's why I dragged you out of there."
Christine huffed and puffed but didn't argue.
They decided to explore the school to cool off. But as they walked, Dune couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The weight of an unseen gaze pressed against his skin like cold fingers, but every time he looked over his shoulder, the corridor was empty.
He brushed it off.
It was probably paranoia.
But then, as they passed by an abandoned hallway, Dune caught something out of the corner of his eye.
A shadow.
It twisted and curled against the wall, moving against the direction of the light — unnatural, almost alive.
His fingers twitched involuntarily, the faintest ripple of energy crackling at his fingertips before he quickly shoved his hands into his pockets.
He didn't mention it to Christine.
He just kept walking.
But the heaviness in his chest lingered, a silent warning that something — or someone — was already watching him, and he didn't like it.
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