Beatrix pressed her back against the cold wall, her breath shallow and uneven as the heavy cafeteria door clicked shut. She squeezed her eyes closed, her heart racing, her pulse drumming too fast to slow.
Blair's voice echoed faintly from somewhere nearby. "Beatrix?"
She gritted her teeth. The sound was soft, full of concern, but she didn't answer.
Her fingers curled into her palms. She wanted someone to pull her out of this spiral, to touch her shoulder and tell her she wasn't drowning—but that wasn't how things worked. Comfort was for people who deserved it.
And she had let her sister die.
The memory rose, sharp and jagged: firelight reflecting in her sister's terrified eyes, the weight of her slipping fingers, the sound of her screams splitting Beatrix's mind open.
Beatrix inhaled sharply, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. She wiped her eyes, forcing herself to breathe, and turned the corner—straight into a stranger.
He stood just a step away, watching her quietly.
Her chest tightened again. He wasn't wearing the uniform jacket properly—the blazer was draped over his shoulders like a cape, his shirt collar open just enough to suggest carelessness rather than rebellion. His face was sharp but calm, framed by dark curls that seemed to fall exactly where they belonged.
He smiled.
It wasn't big or flashy. It was small, soft, and perfect.
The knot in her chest eased.
"Are you okay?" His voice was low and steady, like the hum of something warm beneath her skin.
Beatrix frowned. "I'm fine." But the words came out weaker than she wanted.
"You don't seem fine." He tilted his head, his smile never faltering. "I saw you run out. I thought—" He gestured vaguely, his hand smooth and graceful. "Maybe I could help."
Her muscles, tense a moment before, loosened as if they'd melted. The frantic storm in her chest quieted. Her heartbeat slowed to a calm, steady thud.
She should've been wary.
But she wasn't.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Jason."
Beatrix's lips parted. Jason. The name settled into her thoughts like a whisper of something safe and familiar, even though she had never seen him before.
"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer. "You can tell me."
Her stomach clenched, but not with fear. A warmth pooled in her chest, a strange pull that made her lean toward him as if gravity had shifted between them. Her pain, her guilt—it was still there, but it dulled under his gaze, like it had been wrapped in cotton.
He looked at her like she wasn't broken.
Like he could fix her.
"Beatrix!"
Blair's voice cracked the air like a whip.
Beatrix flinched, snapping her gaze toward the sound. She blinked as if waking from a deep sleep. Blair's figure loomed behind Jason, her face hard with something close to anger.
"Get away from him!"
Jason turned his head, giving Blair a polite, easy smile. "We were just talking."
Blair's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, I bet you were."
Beatrix felt her chest tighten again. The moment of calm slipped away like a dream, leaving her cold and hollow. She opened her mouth to tell Blair to back off—but the warmth Jason had brought was already gone, and without it, the weight of everything came crashing down.
She wanted it back.
Her eyes flicked to Jason, her fingers twitching toward him.
"Beatrix," Blair snapped, "I said get away."
Jason stepped back, his hands raised in surrender, his expression calm. "I didn't mean any harm. I was only making sure she was okay."
"She's fine," Blair growled.
Jason smiled again, perfectly composed. "Of course. See you around, Beatrix."
He turned, walking away with the unhurried grace of someone who always had control.
As soon as he was gone, the ache in Beatrix's chest returned full force.
The guilt. The grief. The screaming and the hand she let go of.
Blair stepped in front of her, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "What the hell was that?"
Beatrix's fingers curled into fists. Her head throbbed, and her skin felt too tight.
"Why did you stop him?" she whispered.
Blair blinked. "What?"
"Why did you—" Beatrix's breath hitched. "He was helping me."
"Helping you?" Blair snapped, her eyes dark with frustration. "You think that was real? Do you even know what he can do?"
Beatrix didn't care. The calm, the peace—it had been real enough. She wanted it back.
"You don't get to decide who I talk to!"
Blair dodged easily as Beatrix's fist swung toward her face. She grabbed Beatrix's wrist, twisting it just enough to pin her in place.
"Stop."
"Let go of me," Beatrix snarled, her heart racing, her thoughts a jumble of pain and fury.
"I said stop."
Blair didn't let go until Beatrix's shoulders sagged and her hand fell limp. Then she took a breath, her tone lower, softer, but no less serious.
"His name is Jason," she said. "He's in my set."
Beatrix's breathing slowed, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.
Blair continued, her voice razor-sharp. "He's powerful, not with fists or fire. His power is subtle. Pheromones, Beatrix. He influences emotions. He makes you feel whatever he wants you to feel. Calm, safe, whatever you're craving most. It's like a drug—if you aren't strong enough, you'll keep going back for more."
Beatrix stared at her, her hands trembling.
Blair's voice dropped. "He's dangerous."
"He didn't do anything."
"Yes, he did."
Blair's words hung in the air between them, sharp as knives. Beatrix swallowed hard.
"Promise me you'll stay away from him."
Beatrix clenched her jaw.
"Promise me, Ginger."
There was a long, heavy pause.
"I promise."
Blair exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing. "Good."
Beatrix's throat tightened as a fresh wave of guilt washed over her. Her chest burned, her eyes stinging with tears she refused to shed.
"I'm going back to my room," she whispered.
Blair hesitated. "I'll walk you—"
"No." Beatrix forced herself to meet her eyes. "I need space. We just met, Blair. I'm not ready for this."
Blair's expression flickered with something like hurt, but she nodded once. She didn't say anything else as Beatrix turned and walked away.