Chapter 4
Micah
The cafeteria hums with the usual noise—plastic trays slamming, voices droning, the metallic scrape of forks against dented plates. None of it touches me. Nothing ever does.
Until her.
Her eyes find mine across the room, hazel locking with black. The second it happens, the air changes. My chest tightens, my pulse kicking harder than it has in years.
She doesn’t look away. Neither do I.
A murmur ripples from a nearby table, penetrating through the noise. “Is she staring at him? At Micah the monster?”
The noise dies just a little. Heads turn. Even the weak ones know you don’t stare at me.
But she does.
And I drink it in, every second, every flicker of defiance on her face. It’s not fear. Not pity. Something else. Something only for me.
Then she looks away, severing our connection. Marcy steps closer, blocking her from me like a wall of steel.
“Eyes forward, Katana,” she barks, snapping her fingers toward the food line. Her hand closes around her arm, dragging her away.
I’m left with nothing but the echo of her gaze and the scent of cinnamon that wafted across the room.
My jaw ticks. Rage whispers at the edges, demanding I tear Marcy apart for daring to steal her from me. But I don’t move.
Now is not the time. Control the urge.
Instead, I let the mask of stone slip back over my face. I lower my eyes to the plate in front of me, tasting nothing, seeing nothing, but knowing one thing with absolute clarity: Katana belongs to me.
And anyone who comes between us will bleed for it.