The Target Was Mine.

The Burn before Blaze

Cassian

She didn’t look at me.

Again.

Everyone else did. Always. Girls, teachers, rival heirs — all eyes landed on me like I was the sun.

But not her.

Wednesday Hale.

The haunted girl with razor-blade eyes and zero tolerance for bullshit. It wasn’t just that she didn’t like me — it was that she didn’t care.

And that?

That pissed me off.

“Bro, I think she might be a robot,” Lucian said, smirking as he watched her float past in the hallway — black uniform crisp, hair braided like a noose down her back, face blank.

“Not a robot,” Dante added. “A haunted doll. You ever seen Annabelle?”

“She needs an exorcism,” someone behind us snorted.

I didn’t laugh.

Because I couldn’t stop watching the way she moved like she belonged nowhere. Like nothing touched her.

So I tried something stupid.

I stepped in her path.

She paused. Looked up. No fear. No interest. Just that cold, still stare that made my skin itch.

I grinned. “Hey, Ghost Girl,” I said, brushing my fingers down her braid. “Smile a little. I heard it burns calories.”

She slapped my hand away. Hard. And loud enough that it echoed.

The hallway went silent.

I blinked.

The embarrassment hit me like a slap — me, Cassian Moretti, the guy who usually had girls giggling and begging. She just dismissed me like I was gum on her boot.

“You shouldn’t touch things you can’t understand,” she said, voice flat, before walking past.

Laughter broke out behind me. I could feel my ears burn.

Lucian laughed. “Damn, bro.”

Dante whistled. “She fried you.”

Pride snapped.

I turned and raised my voice just enough. “You know what they say about girls who dress like funerals — dead inside, boring outside.”

She paused.

Turned back.

And stared.

That look. It wasn’t hurt. It wasn’t even anger.

It was... disappointment.

As if I’d just confirmed everything she already believed about the world.

Then she turned back around.

Didn’t say another word.

But the silence? It was louder than anything else in that hallway.

Wednesday

I didn’t cry.

Not because it didn’t hurt. But because tears were a luxury I’d learned to live without.

Let Cassian Moretti bask in his crowd of laughing sycophants. Let him burn his pride on the altar of ego.

He didn’t matter.

Not to me.

Not anymore.

It should have ended there.

But this was Sterling Academy. And fate had a twisted sense of humor.

“Today,” Dr. Voss announced in the next chemistry class, “you will be assigned partners for the Reproductive Simulation Project.”

Groans and snickers echoed through the classroom.

“You’ll be parenting a simulated infant together. Designing its chemical compound traits. Handling its care protocol. Assessments will be both academic and behavioral.”

I stared straight ahead.

“Partners are non-negotiable,” she added. “Pairings were randomized for balance.”

My stomach dropped.

You already know what’s coming.

“Cassian Moretti. Wednesday Hale.”

A ripple moved through the class like a shockwave.

Lucian fake-gagged. “Is that even legal?”

Sienna leaned in to Everly, whispering, “He’s gonna kill her.”

Cassian turned toward me, and I saw it — that flicker of something like regret. Then it was gone, swallowed up by his usual smug smirk.

“Oh, this’ll be fun,” he drawled.

But I could see it now: he was rattled. Because he thought I was nothing.

And yet, here I was — the only girl who had bruised his pride.

Cassian

It should’ve been funny.

Instead, it felt like a curse.

And when Everly — Everly, who’d once moaned my name like a prayer — decided to take matters into her own claws, s**t went nuclear.

We were leaving the lab when she approached Wednesday again.

“You really think you belong here, Hale?” she hissed. “We all know what you are. Stray mutt. No pedigree. No power. You’re just roadkill in designer shoes.”

Wednesday didn’t flinch.

But then Everly shoved her.

Just a nudge. Just enough.

I stepped forward instinctively.

But I was too late.

Because this time — Wednesday snapped.

Her hand locked in Everly’s hair. Her knee drove into her gut. Everly shrieked as she was slammed into the locker, her cheek smacking metal with a brutal crack.

It wasn’t a fight.

It was a lesson.

And Wednesday delivered it with surgical precision.

When she finally let go, Everly dropped like a dead thing.

The hallway was silent.

Then —

“Hale!”

Dean Sorrens stormed into the chaos, face like thunder.

Wednesday didn’t say a word. Her knuckles were red. Her braid was loose. But her face?

Calm.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” the Dean barked.

I moved forward.

But someone beat me to it.

A voice, deep and confident: “She was provoked.”

All heads turned.

Adrian Vale.

The golden heir of House Vale. The only student with more political power than me.

“She was defending herself,” Adrian said smoothly. “The cameras will show that. Unless Sterling now punishes victims more than aggressors?”

The Dean hesitated.

Then sighed. “Detention. Both of them. Effective immediately.”

Everly wailed. “But she — she —!”

But no one cared anymore.

All eyes were on Wednesday.

And, strangely, on me.

Lucian leaned in. “Dude. What’s happening to your world?”

I didn’t answer.

Because something had cracked inside me, and I didn’t know what it was yet.

All I knew was this:

She looked dangerous in the best way.

And for the first time, I didn’t feel like the predator.

I felt like the prey.