Chapter 6: The Ghost in the Row Behind

Pre-calculus was held in a room that felt like a sensory deprivation tank—fluorescent lights that hummed at a frequency only Noah could hear, and the sterile scent of dry-erase markers.

When Noah stepped through the door and saw the back of a familiar head—dark, curly hair with that familiar scent he noticed in a previous class. Katherine. She had followed the same schedule, a coincidence that felt like a cruel joke from the universe.

Why am I happy about this? Noah wondered, his jaw tightening. I should be sprinting for the parking lot. Every breath he took was a gamble. Her scent—that warm, sugary cheesecake aroma—was even more potent in the cramped confines of the math wing. It made his fangs ache beneath his gums, a sharp, throbbing reminder of the monster he was. He wanted to be normal. He wanted to be the boy who worried about grades and prom, not the creature who had to calculate the distance to the nearest jugular just to stay seated.

"I am Mr. Wright," a voice rasped. A short, bald man with a scowl that looked etched in stone pointed at a seating chart. "These are your assigned seats. No negotiations. No musical chairs."

One by one, the names were called. Noah waited, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"Becker, Katherine. Row four, seat three."

Katherine moved to her spot, her movements graceful and unhurried.

"Riley, Noah. Row four, seat four."

Noah exhaled a breath he didn't need to take. He sank into the hard plastic chair, staring at the back of her head. He could see the fine, pale hairs at the nape of her neck. He could hear the soft, rhythmic whoosh of air in her lungs.

If I could murder this man for putting me here, I would, Noah thought, the darkness in him rising like a tide. But he settled for the small mercy of being near her, even if it was an exquisite form of torture.