Neon streetlight blurred past us. Kyren's rage was a living thing. He didn't speak until we were inside our apartment.
"Look at me, Hailey," he said, his hands coming up to cup my face. His palms were hot, but his eyes were as cold as ice.
"Kyren, you're scaring me," I whispered.
"You should be scared. But not of me." He took a deep breath, his jaw tight.
"We found Oliver's sketchbook. It wasn't just random drawings, Hailey. It was you. Sleeping in the library. In the shower. Walking across the quad. He’s been tracking your every move like a hunter."
The air left my lungs in a painful rush.
The way he sat next to me in class today, without a word, it wasn't a truce. He was studying me.
I felt a wave of nausea rush over me. The thought of his eyes on me while I was vulnerable made
