Chapter 12
ERYX
The weekend came and went and I can’t get her out of my mind.
The moment we shared in the car. The small crack in her armor.
It’s been two days since the drinking game.
Two days since she pressed a little too close while pretending not to notice, since her thigh brushed mine, as she leaned over drinking from my glass.
Since her eyes dipped down to my mouth just once, and two-seconds too long.
Two days since she tried to play it cool with her sharp mouth and slow smirks.
But the moment in the car, her knees pressed together, the seatbelt I clicked into place, the silence that stretched too long and said too much.
And the way her voice wavered just slightly when she asked me, “Do you ever feel like… no matter how many people are around, you’re still alone? ”
Yeah, that’s the moment I keep replaying.
Now it’s Monday, and whatever crack I thought I saw in her armor? It’s gone.
Anastasia walks into Mr. Roberts’ class like she did that first day.
Scowl on her face soon as she sees me. Tight black sweater, high-waisted plaid skirt that she rolled at the waist that’s definitely breaking dress code, and those boots that don’t even pretend to play innocent.
She doesn’t look at me, but I feel it—how aware she is of where I’m sitting.
She’s good at this. Damn tease. Just you wait.
She’s all fire again tossing that pen in her fingers like she’s holding a match and itching to burn the whole institution down. It’s her favorite mask—the rebel princess act. But I know what’s underneath it now.
She sits next to me, looking forward. Pretending nothing happened. That she didn’t open up, even just for a second. That she didn’t let her voice go soft when she asked me if I ever felt like I was alone in a room full of people. That she didn’t look relieved when I told her yes.
“Today’s debate,” Roberts announces from the front, “is the law a tool of justice, or a weapon of control, to preserve power? Ivanov, Díaz, you’re up.”
Of course.
She arches a brow, sauntering to the front with that perfect mix of disdain and danger. She steps forward first, no hesitation. Her voice cuts sharp through the room.
“The law was never about justice. It was built by powerful men to protect their own interests—landowners, kings, politicians, corporations. It wasn’t made to serve the people.
It was made to control them. Every rule, every regulation—it exists because someone in power feared losing what they had.
So they wrote laws to justify keeping it.
And everyone else? They get told to follow them or face the consequences.
” She pauses. Her eyes skim the class, then flick toward me.
“But let’s not act surprised. The game’s been rigged since the beginning.
” She steps back and I smile. That gets a soft scoff from her.
Mr. Roberts gestures. “Continue.”
She turns toward the class, all poise and bite. “The law is a cage dressed up like a crown. People with power don’t follow it. They write it. Use it. Hide behind it. Then act surprised when everyone else calls bullshit. Laws are just rules made by men to better serve them.”
She’s good. But she’s also angry. I can feel it, something close to her skin, still raw.
Left over from the weekend. I see it. The tightness in her jaw, that flicker of something behind her eyes.
Same thing I saw in the car when she dropped her gaze and asked, ‘Do you ever wish you could disappear?’
I wait a beat before I speak.
“Powerful men did write the laws,” I agree, nodding.
“But not because they were scared. Because they understood control.” My tone is calm, even and controlled, unlike hers.
“They knew that chaos breeds rebellion. So they gave us structure, a system, something that looks like order. Something we can follow, until we realized it was never meant to protect us, only them.” I take a step closer to her.
“But the real power isn’t in following the rules, it’s in learning them well enough to bend them. ”
Her eyes narrow slightly. I’ve got her attention. She turns toward me now, slow and deliberate. The air between us thickens.
“The ones who win,” I continue, “aren’t the ones crying about the system being unfair.
They’re the ones using it to tear the old one down and build something new.
On their terms.” I turn, face her fully.
“So, tell me, Nastasya. You say the law is a weapon made by men to keep power. But isn’t that exactly what you’re learning to do now? Turn it on them?”
She doesn’t flinch. But she doesn’t answer either. Because she knows I’m not just talking about the law anymore. I’m talking about her. I tilt my head, watching her. “Or maybe you’re just scared of what you’d be without the rules. Scared of what’s left if the cage comes off.”
Her expression sharpens. She steps closer—barely—but I feel the heat of her body like static electricity.
“You think you know what I’m scared of?” she whispers, just loud enough for me to hear. “You think because we played a stupid game and sat in a car for five minutes that gives you insight?”
“No,” I murmur back. “But I saw it. The part you didn’t mean to show me. And now I’m not going to stop looking.”
She freezes for a fraction of a second. That’s all I need.
Then she smiles, bright and false, cutting me. “Debate’s over, the law is a weapon.” She turns to Roberts. “We’re done here.”
And just like that, she walks back to her seat, chin high, unapologetically. But she doesn’t see what I see. I’m still standing in the echo of her voice from that night.
“Sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it.”
“Sometimes I want to disappear.”
She thinks she’s back in control. But her armor? It’s cracking at the seams. And I’m already under it.
She pulls out the black notebook she’s always writing in and turns to me before asking, “Hey, how do you spell your name? It E-r-y-x I-v-a-n-o-v, right?”
Why is she asking me this? “Umm, yeah, that’s right.” She finishes whatever she’s writing with a big smile on her face. We’re dismissed and I see her close the notebook before putting it away. Written across it, it reads Death Note. Oh this girl got some damn jokes I see. I can’t help but laugh.
Anastasia
I can still feel his eyes on me. Even as I walk away, even as I take my seat, even as I flip my notebook open like I care what’s coming next. The weight of his stare is a slow burn against my skin.
I told myself I’d forget the weekend. Bury it under a few hours of sleep and the haze of a hangover. But there he was, standing next to me in class, throwing my words back at me with that same damn calm voice that drives me insane.
“Isn’t that exactly what you’re learning to do now? Turn it on them?”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that I did say too much that night.
That I let the alcohol and the moonlight and the damn tacos soften my edges.
I told him about Colorado, for God’s sake.
About wanting to disappear. That’s not something you tell a guy who wears blood like cologne and looks at you like he wants to peel your layers back with his teeth.
And yet, I did.
I still feel the vibration of the engine under me. His hand brushing mine when he handed over my drink. His eyes on my thighs when my skirt rode up. The way he tucked my hair behind my ear like it was nothing. Like it meant something. Like it was effortless, deliberate.
My cheeks burn and I clench my pen so tight it creaks. Why did I let him get that close? Why do I want him to do it again?
I glance up. He’s still watching me. Of course he is.
His expression is unreadable. Like he’s pulling pieces of me apart in his head.
Holding my secrets in his mouth like sugar, letting them melt slowly.
I clench my fist under the desk. Nails biting into my palm.
A reminder that I’m still in control. I have to be.
Because if I’m not… if I let someone like him get under my skin, then what?
What happens when he finds out just how broken I really am?
No. This is just a game to him. Curiosity.
Entertainment. Something to keep him busy between power plays and bloodstained secrets.
I wish I didn’t feel so damn seen. And I wish being seen didn’t make me feel like I’m standing naked in a burning room.
With the day almost over I make my way to the library to get some research time in. I slide into a seat at the back of the room, trying to shake the weight of Eryx’s words.
The lights are always dimmed down in this room.
A hum of voices can be heard throughout.
Today has been a long day and I'm ready for it to be over.
I just want to lay on my bed, headphones on, blast some WesGhost and forget all about today.
My back and forth with Eryx drained me. I'm so close to crashing out.
My emotions have been all over the place since getting here.
And of course, as more students file through the door, here comes Jason and decides to sit next to me.
Not near me.
Next to me.
We only share one class together, yet I keep seeing him at every turn. I don’t even know him, yet he’s been pestering me since I've got here.
I stiffen the second I smell his cologne. Cheap, and over-applied, like he’s trying too hard. Like always. He makes me nauseous.
“You’ve been quiet,” he murmurs. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” He leans in brushing my elbow.
I keep my voice low.
“First of all, don’t touch me. And maybe you just haven’t been worth talking to.”
His smile falters for a half-second. Barely noticeable but I catch it.
He covers it up with a laugh and leans back in his chair, arms crossed, like he’s settling in for a show. “You always have a mouth on you. Wonder what else it’s good for.”
I blink once. Just once.