MY PSYCHO ALPHA

CHAPTER 4

I didn’t stop thinking about the nickname.

Not for one second.

Not while Lina kept talking with syrup on her lip like she was narrating a cooking show.Not while I stabbed eggs like they’d personally offended me.Not even when I walked out of the cafeteria pretending my heart wasn’t doing that stupid fast thing it did whenever Alex looked at me like I was a secret he already knew.

Sparrow.

That name wasn’t supposed to exist here.

It wasn’t my “new life” name. It wasn’t even a name I used anymore. It belonged to a version of me that lived before college—before I decided I was done being small, done being soft, done being the kind of person who let people see inside her.

So how did he know it?

I kept replaying the moment, word for word, like my brain was a broken record.

“Don’t sit with your back to the room, Sparrow.”

Like he’d said it without thinking.Like it was natural for him to call me that.

Like he’d always been allowed to.

When I stood from the table, my chair scraped loudly enough to make heads turn.

Lina blinked up at me. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here,” I said, too sharp.

Alex didn’t move. He didn’t look surprised. He just watched me like he’d been expecting the explosion.

I grabbed my tray, dumped it, and marched toward the exit.

Behind me, Lina hurried to follow, because Lina was loyal and also addicted to drama.

Alex followed too.

Of course he did.

Outside, the morning air was cooler, and for a second I could actually breathe. Sunlight hit the campus lawn, making everything look innocent. Like it wasn’t already full of secrets and weird rules and boys whose eyes did not behave like human eyes.

I stopped on the path and spun around.

Alex stopped too, too close, like he was made of gravity.

Lina hovered behind me like a referee who wasn’t sure which player might bite.

I pointed at Alex. “Don’t do that.”

Alex lifted his eyebrows. “Do what?”

“Call me that,” I snapped. “Don’t call me that again.”

His mouth curved slightly, amused. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said, because my pride refused to cooperate with my feelings. “I said you shouldn’t know it.”

Alex’s gaze held mine, steady and dark.

“You’re asking questions,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “I am. Answer.”

Alex blinked once, slow. “No.”

My jaw tightened. “Excuse me?”

“No,” he repeated calmly, like it was a normal response to give me the truth about how you know my childhood nickname.

Lina made a soft oof noise like she’d been slapped by secondhand tension.

I stared at Alex, incredulous. “You can’t just refuse.”

“I can,” he said. “I did.”

I took a step closer, because my temper didn’t know how to back down.

“How do you know that name?” I demanded again.

Alex didn’t answer.

He just looked at me like he was measuring how far I’d push before I broke myself.

Then he said quietly, “Not out here.”

My stomach twisted.

“Why?” I whispered.

His eyes flicked past me—fast, sharp—scanning the walkway like he was watching for something I couldn’t see.

Then he looked back at me, expression calm again.

“Because you’re loud,” he said.

I blinked. “That’s your excuse?”

“It’s a reason,” he said.

Lina cleared her throat like she wanted to save the moment from becoming a war crime. “Okay! New plan. We go to the dorm, we—”

“No,” I said, still staring at Alex. “He doesn’t get to drop a nickname bomb and then act like it’s normal.”

Alex’s voice stayed low. “You’re safe when you’re mad at me.”

That sentence hit me in the chest so hard I forgot how to breathe.

“What?” I snapped, because snapping was the only way I knew to hide being affected.

He didn’t smile this time.

“People pay attention when you’re mad,” he said. “They watch your hands. Your eyes. Your body. They don’t sneak up.”

My skin prickled.

Lina’s expression shifted from amused to uneasy. “Okay… why do you talk like we’re in a survival game?”

Alex didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on me.

“Because some people treat campus like one,” he said.

I swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

The memory of the hallway guy flashed in my mind. His grin. His hand reaching. The empty hallway.

Alex’s voice—Don’t.

I hated that Alex sounded right.

I hated more that he sounded like he’d seen worse.

I forced my shoulders back. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

Alex’s gaze didn’t change. “I will.”

“Good,” I said, even though it didn’t feel good at all. “Because I don’t care.”

His mouth curved faintly, like he didn’t believe me.

He didn’t argue though. He just stepped slightly to the side—subtle, protective positioning, like he was shielding my left without touching me.

It was so instinctive it made my stomach twist again.

Not fear.

Something else.

I started walking toward the dorms.

Lina hurried beside me. “Okay, I’m officially stressed,” she muttered. “I feel like I’m living inside a romance thriller.”

“You are,” Alex said behind us, like it was a fact.

Lina threw her hands up. “STOP.”

I kept walking faster, like speed could outrun discomfort.

We cut across the quad, and that’s when I saw them.

Posters.

Not the normal “join this club” posters.

Not “free pizza” posters.

These were printed in bold black letters with official seals at the top, taped on every lamppost and bulletin board like someone wanted to make sure the whole campus read them.

CAMPUS CONDUCT & SAFETY NOTICEALL STUDENTS MUST COMPLY WITH THE FOLLOWING RULES:

NO FIGHTS.

NO MIDNIGHT ROAMING.

DO NOT CROSS THE FOREST BOUNDARY.

I stopped so abruptly Lina bumped into me.

“What?” Lina asked, then saw the list and made a face. “Okay… weird. Why is ‘forest boundary’ a rule?”

My eyes locked on that last line.

I’d seen the boundary sign before. The one at the edge of the darker trees. But seeing it on an official campus notice made it feel different.

Not like a suggestion.

Like a threat.

Alex walked up behind us and glanced at the poster.

Then he laughed.

Not a full laugh. Just a short exhale like the rule list was a joke someone told badly.

I turned my head slowly. “What’s funny?”

Alex tapped the poster lightly with one finger, right on NO FIGHTS.

“Cute,” he said.

Lina blinked. “Cute? That’s not cute. That’s… normal.”

Alex’s mouth twitched. “It’s cute that they think a poster stops fights.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You plan on fighting?”

Alex looked at me like I’d asked if he planned on breathing. “If someone gives me a reason.”

I pointed at the poster. “The rule is literally no fights.”

He shrugged. “Then they shouldn’t give me a reason.”

Lina let out a low whistle. “You talk like a villain.”

Alex looked at Lina briefly. “I’ve been called worse.”

I stared at him. “Are you always like this?”

Alex’s gaze returned to mine, calm and dark.

“No,” he said softly. “Sometimes I’m worse.”

My stomach twisted.

Lina’s voice came out quieter. “Okay, I don’t like that answer.”

I didn’t either.

A group of students walked by, reading the poster, laughing.

“Midnight roaming?” one guy said. “What are we, vampires?”

Another girl giggled. “No forest boundary? Did someone get eaten?”

They laughed like it was a joke.

Like the idea of danger was just a fun story you told your friends to make campus feel mysterious.

I didn’t laugh.

Because Alex wasn’t laughing either.

Not anymore.

His gaze had slid off the poster and toward the far side of the quad.

Toward the darker line of trees.

Toward that path that led to the boundary sign.

He went still in a way that didn’t match his usual casual arrogance.

His shoulders tightened slightly.

His jaw set.

It was subtle, but it was real.

And it made my skin prickle.

I followed his stare.

From where we stood, the boundary sign was just barely visible in the distance—white board, black letters.

BOUNDARY — DO NOT CROSS AFTER DARK

The trees behind it looked thicker in daylight than they should’ve, like shadows were woven into the leaves.

Alex stared at it like it was personal.

Like it wasn’t a rule.

Like it was a memory.

Lina noticed too, because Lina noticed everything when she stopped joking long enough.

“Uh…” she whispered. “Why is he looking at it like that?”

I didn’t answer because my throat had gone tight.

Alex blinked once.

Then his expression snapped back into place—calm, amused, normal-ish.

He turned away from the trees like he’d never cared.

“Come on,” he said, voice casual. “You’ll be late.”

I frowned. “Late for what?”

He nodded toward the student center. “They’re doing schedule pick-up. ID photos. Stuff.”

Lina groaned. “Nooooo, not the ID photo. That’s a set-up.”

Alex started walking.

I didn’t want to follow him.

I didn’t want to be pulled into his orbit like gravity had decided I belonged there.

But my feet moved anyway, because something about him made ignoring him feel dangerous.

I walked with Lina, Alex trailing just behind us.

As we passed more posters, I saw the same rules repeated everywhere.

Like someone was scared.

Like someone was trying too hard.

And every time we passed one, Alex glanced at it like he was evaluating an enemy.

We reached the student center, where a crowd had formed around folding tables, each labeled with a task.

ID PHOTO LINESCHEDULE HELPCLUB FAIR MAPSRESIDENT INFORMATION

Lina immediately sprinted toward the club maps like her life depended on it.

“I’m joining something,” she announced. “I refuse to become a silent hallway ghost.”

“Do not join a cult,” I called after her.

Lina waved without looking back. “No promises!”

I turned toward the schedule line, clutching my papers.

Alex stepped beside me smoothly.

I glared. “Do you have to stand right there?”

He glanced down at me. “Yes.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It’s an answer,” he said.

I rolled my eyes and faced forward.

The line moved slowly. A staff member was asking questions, fixing typos, handing out printed schedules.

I tried to focus on normal college problems. Like classes. Like time blocks. Like how the cafeteria eggs tasted like regret.

But Alex’s presence made my thoughts scatter.

And the moment my mind wandered, it went back to the boundary sign.

The rule list.

The way Alex stared at the trees like they were his enemy.

Or his home.

I forced myself to breathe.

Normal. Normal. Normal.

A guy behind us—tall, loud, wearing a varsity jacket—kept bumping Alex’s shoulder every time the line moved. Like he was trying to prove something.

At first, Alex ignored it.

But on the third bump, the guy chuckled and said, “Move, man. You’re taking up space.”

Alex didn’t turn fully.

He only tilted his head slightly, like he’d heard a fly buzzing.

“I’m standing in line,” Alex said.

The guy laughed. “Yeah, and you’re standing like you own it.”

Alex’s voice stayed calm. “I do.”

The guy scoffed. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Alex finally turned his head just enough that the guy could see his eyes.

“I’m supposed to be the last person you bother today,” Alex said quietly.

The line around us went weirdly silent.

Like everyone had heard the change in tone.

The varsity guy’s grin faltered.

I felt it too—like the air had thickened, heavy with the kind of danger you feel before a fight breaks out.

I swallowed.

The rule list flashed in my mind.

NO FIGHTS.

Alex didn’t look like he cared about posters.

The varsity guy tried to laugh it off, but it came out strained. “Relax. I’m just saying—”

Alex stepped half an inch closer.

Not even a full step.

Just enough to close the space.

His voice dropped, calm but sharp. “Don’t.”

One word.

That was all.

The varsity guy’s expression changed like he’d just realized something he didn’t want to know.

He swallowed.

Then, quietly, he stepped back.

No apology. No comment.

Just… retreat.

My stomach twisted again.

I looked up at Alex.

His face was neutral. Calm.

Like nothing happened.

Like he hadn’t just silenced someone with a single word.

Like he hadn’t just shown me his temper without raising his voice.

The staff member at the desk called, “Next!”

I stepped forward too quickly, desperate to break the tension.

I handed over my papers and tried to smile like a person who wasn’t living beside a walking storm.

The staff member glanced at my name, typed something, and said, “Okay, you’re set.”

Then they handed me a schedule printout and pointed toward the ID photo line.

“Photo is over there,” they said.

I nodded and stepped away, papers in hand.

Lina came back bouncing, holding three different club flyers like they were lottery tickets.

“I joined a creative club,” she announced, “a dance club, and something called ‘Night Safety Volunteers’ which sounds fake but also hot.”

I stared. “Night safety volunteers?”

Lina shrugged. “They said they do campus patrols to keep people safe at night.”

My stomach tightened.

“No midnight roaming,” I muttered.

Lina blinked. “Yeah, but they said it’s ‘authorized.’”

Authorized.

Like there was a reason the campus needed patrols.

Like there was a reason they needed rules.

Alex’s gaze had shifted again toward the glass doors of the student center.

Toward the outside.

Toward the trees.

He went still.

Again.

I watched him this time.

Watched the way his fingers flexed once at his side like he was resisting an instinct.

Watched the way his jaw tightened.

Then he blinked and the calm mask returned.

I swallowed and stepped closer to him without thinking.

“Why are you staring at the forest?” I asked quietly.

Alex didn’t look at me.

“They put rules up for a reason,” he said.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It does,” he said.

I frowned. “How?”

Alex finally looked down at me.

His eyes were dark—storm-dark, controlled.

“There are things out there,” he said softly, “that don’t care about campus rules.”

A chill crawled up my spine.

I forced a laugh that came out weak. “Like… wildlife?”

Alex’s mouth twitched like he almost smiled.

But he didn’t.

“Sure,” he said.

Lina, sensing the shift, stepped between us with forced cheer. “Okay! ID photos! Let’s go look terrible on official cards!”

We moved toward the photo line.

I tried to focus on the normal embarrassment of standing under fluorescent lights while someone told me, “No, don’t smile like that. Less teeth.”

But even while I sat on the stool and the camera flashed, I could feel Alex behind the photographer like a quiet guard.

Watching.

Listening.

Too aware.

When my photo was done, I grabbed my temporary ID and stumbled away feeling exposed.

Lina’s photo came out surprisingly cute, because Lina was unfairly photogenic.

Then Alex stepped up.

The photographer blinked, adjusted the camera, and said, “Okay… look straight.”

Alex did.

The photographer froze for half a second, then hurried to take the picture like they wanted it over.

The flash went off.

Alex didn’t blink.

When the photographer handed him the ID card, they didn’t make eye contact.

Lina whispered, “Okay, why does everyone act weird around him?”

I whispered back, “Because he acts like he owns oxygen.”

Alex glanced at me. “I heard that.”

I groaned. “Stop hearing things.”

“I have ears,” he repeated.

We left the student center a little after noon.

The sun was higher now, making the quad bright and warm.

Students sprawled on grass, laughing, eating, acting like the world was safe.

For a moment, I wanted to believe it.

I wanted to believe I was just anxious and dramatic and overthinking.

But then the wind shifted.

And the smell of rain and metal hit me again.

Not just from Alex.

From the direction of the trees.

I froze mid-step.

Lina didn’t notice. She was talking about the dance club flyer.

Alex noticed.

His head lifted slightly, like he was listening.

Like he heard something the rest of us didn’t.

“What?” I asked, barely moving my lips.

Alex’s eyes stayed on the distant line of trees.

“Go back,” he said, quiet.

“What?”

“Back to the dorm,” he repeated.

Lina blinked. “Why? We were gonna—”

Alex cut in, voice sharper. “Now.”

Lina’s mouth snapped shut.

My pulse spiked.

“Alex,” I whispered, “what’s happening?”

He didn’t answer.

He started walking, positioning himself slightly in front of us, like he was guiding without touching.

Like he was shielding us from an invisible line.

My stomach twisted so hard it almost hurt.

We followed him without arguing, because something in his posture made arguing feel stupid.

We crossed the quad fast.

The boundary sign grew clearer as we moved—white board, black letters.

BOUNDARY — DO NOT CROSS AFTER DARK

The path behind it disappeared into thick trees.

Alex’s gaze locked on it like it was a trigger.

Like it was calling him.

He stopped on the main walkway, far from the sign, shoulders tense.

Lina whispered, “Okay, I’m officially scared now.”

I swallowed. “Me too.”

Alex’s voice came low. “Stay here.”

I grabbed his sleeve before I could stop myself.

His shirt was warm under my fingers.

He looked down at my hand like it surprised him.

Then his gaze lifted to my face.

“What?” I whispered.

His voice softened—just a fraction. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” My voice shook. “Don’t ask? Don’t follow? Don’t—”

His eyes flicked to the trees again, then back to me.

“Don’t cross that line,” he said.

“What line?”

He nodded toward the boundary sign.

“The forest,” he said.

My throat went dry.

“I wasn’t going to,” I whispered.

His gaze held mine like he needed to believe it.

Then he gently peeled my fingers off his sleeve—careful, controlled, like he was resisting something stronger than manners.

He turned back toward the trees.

And that’s when I heard it.

A sound.

Low.

Deep.

Not a human voice.

Not a dog.

A growl—so close it felt like it vibrated in my bones.

It came from behind the trees.

From just beyond the boundary sign.

Lina’s hand slammed into my arm, fingers gripping hard.

I didn’t breathe.

Alex went completely still.

Every muscle in him tightened like a wire pulled too far.

The growl lasted only a second.

Then—

Silence.

Not normal silence.

Not “oh, it stopped” silence.

More like the forest itself had swallowed sound.

Like something had gone quiet on purpose.

Alex’s eyes darkened.

His jaw clenched.

And in the bright noon sunlight, with students laughing on the grass behind us like nothing was wrong, Alex stared at the trees like he was looking at an enemy he knew too well.

Then he spoke, so quietly I barely heard him.

“They’re too close.”

And the forest stayed silent—like it was listening.