—Natasha's POV—
The pressure had built all day, a suffocating hand pressing down on the Den, on the campus, on the very air Natasha tried to breathe. It wasn't just the political tension, the factions solidifying like ice on a pond.
It was a deeper, atmospheric sickness—a gathering static that made the hair on her arms stand on end and vibrated along the raw, exposed nerve of her connection to Zane.
The sky was a weird purple color by late afternoon. It looked like it was hurt or something. The sun was hidden behind grey clouds. It was so quiet that it felt weird.
You know, the kind of quiet that makes you notice you cannot hear any birds singing. All you can hear is that ringing noise in your ears. The sky, by afternoon was still that weird purple color.
When the storm finally brok
