Evelyn’s Corridor of Time

Chapter 10: A New Dawn

The school courtyard stretched out like a phoenix’s ashes under the pale pink streaks of dawn, the air crisp with the bite of early spring and the faint, charred tang of last night’s fire pit showdown. The cobblestones gleamed wet with morning dew, reflecting the first rays of sunlight like a battlefield kissed by peace, while the gnarled oaks whispered secrets in the breeze, their leaves shivering with the memory of my victory roar. My sneakers—still scuffed and stained with punch—crunched against the stones as I strode forward, my shredded red gown swapped for tight black jeans that hugged my thighs like a warrior’s armor and a cropped leather jacket that screamed “don’t mess with me.” My hair whipped wild in the wind, a dark cascade framing a face streaked with dried blood and a grin that could cut glass. The talisman was gone, the pin melted into oblivion, but I felt it—a raw, untamed power humming in my bones, no crutch needed. I’d torched Maya and Liam’s empire, burned my chains to ash, and now the campus was mine to conquer. Evelyn Parker, legend reborn, ready to strut into a new day like a queen stepping over corpses.

The crowd from the dance had scattered hours ago, but the buzz lingered—phones still pinging with last night’s chaos, t****k ablaze with clips of Liam’s SpongeBob boxers and Maya’s cupcake meltdown. My name was a war cry on their lips—“Ev-e-lyn! Ev-e-lyn!”—and I soaked it in, shoulders squared, chest puffed, every step a middle finger to the doubters. But the text from that unknown number gnawed at me: A new book waits. Your name’s in gold. It wasn’t over—someone was still out there, pulling strings, and I’d be damned if I let them catch me off guard again. My fists clenched, nails biting into my palms, and I smirked, daring the shadows to try me.

That’s when he showed up—like a storm rolling in without warning, all thunder and swagger. Noah Kane, the new kid, leaned against the rusted flagpole at the courtyard’s edge, his black leather jacket glinting under the dawn, tight jeans slung low on his hips, and a smirk that could melt steel or slit throats, depending on his mood. His dark hair fell in a messy swoop over one eye, the other glinting green and sharp as a blade, and when he straightened, all six-foot-two of him unfolded like a predator stretching after a nap. He didn’t clap or cheer like the others—he just watched, arms crossed, biceps flexing under the leather, his silence louder than the crowd’s roar.

“You’re the chick who turned the dance into a cage match,” he said, voice low and rough, like gravel under boots, cutting through the morning hush. “Heard you took down the prom king and queen with a stick and a bad attitude. That true?”

I stopped, planting my feet, chin tilting up as I met his stare. “Stick, fire, and a whole lotta pissed-off,” I shot back, my grin sharpening. “Name’s Evelyn. You’re late to the party, new guy.”

“Noah,” he said, stepping closer, his boots thudding against the stones, closing the gap until I could smell the mint on his breath and the faint leather musk rolling off him. “Party’s just starting, princess. Saw the footage—SpongeBob’s a nice touch. But you’re trending for more than a beatdown.” He pulled out his phone, flicking the screen on, and there it was—a grainy clip of me slamming the talisman down, the gym quaking, light blasting like I’d summoned a freaking supernova. “What’s this trick, huh? Magic? Rage? Or just damn good luck?”

My stomach twisted, but I didn’t flinch. “Luck’s for losers,” I said, voice steady, stepping into his space until my chest nearly brushed his. “That’s me—raw, unfiltered, and done with cheap props. What’s your deal, Noah? Here to gawk or throw punches?”

He chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound that sent a shiver up my spine, and pocketed his phone. “Neither. I’m here ‘cause you smell like trouble—and magic. Old magic. The kind that doesn’t just burn out.” His eyes flicked to my hand, where the talisman’s shards had left faint scorch marks, and his smirk faded, replaced by something harder, hungrier. “You’re not the only one who’s played with fire, Evelyn.”

The air crackled between us, electric and sharp, and I felt it—a pull, like he was a magnet and I was steel, or maybe the other way around. My heart kicked up, adrenaline spiking, and I grinned, wild and reckless. “Good. I like a challenge. Stick around, Noah—you might see me light up the sky again.”

He didn’t answer—just held my gaze, green eyes boring into me like he could see the chaos stitched into my soul. Then he turned, sauntering toward the school doors, his jacket swaying like a cape, and tossed over his shoulder, “Gym, third period. Don’t be late, legend.”

I watched him go, my pulse hammering, a laugh bubbling up—half thrill, half warning. Who the hell was this guy? The courtyard felt smaller with him gone, the oaks whispering louder, and my phone buzzed again. Another text: He knows more than he’s saying. Watch him. Unknown number, same cryptic bullshit. I shoved it in my pocket, smirking. Watch him? Oh, I’d do more than that—I’d figure him out, break him down, and if he was trouble, I’d bury him deeper than Maya and Liam.

The bell rang, a shrill war cry slicing through the dawn, and I strode toward the school, the doors looming like a gladiator’s gate. Inside, the halls were a circus—lockers banged, kids swarmed, and whispers trailed me like a spotlight. “That’s her!” “She’s insane!” “Total badass!” I soaked it in, head high, until I hit the gym for third period, the air thick with sweat and rubber mats, the bleachers creaking under a crowd already buzzing about last night.

Noah was there, sprawled on the top row, one leg kicked out, watching me like a hawk as I stormed in. Coach blew the whistle, barking orders for dodgeball, but I barely heard—my eyes locked on Noah, his smirk daring me to prove myself. The game kicked off, balls flying like cannon fire, and I dodged, spun, and hurled one back, nailing some jock square in the chest with a thwack that echoed. The crowd cheered, but Noah just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze a blade slicing through the noise.

“Nice arm,” he called, voice cutting over the chaos. “But can you take a hit?”

I grinned, snagging a ball mid-air and whipping it at him—hard, fast, a missile aimed for his smug face. He caught it, one-handed, without blinking, and stood, tossing it back so quick I barely ducked, the air whooshing past my ear. “Guess we’ll find out,” I shouted, charging the court, balls raining around me as I danced through the storm, every throw a declaration: I’m here, I’m untouchable, and I’m not backing down.

The game ended with me sweaty, breathless, and victorious—three hits, zero taken—and Noah slid down the bleachers, meeting me at the edge, his smirk back in full force. “Not bad, Parker,” he said, close enough now I could see the scar snaking down his neck, disappearing under his collar. “But dodgeball’s kid stuff. Real test’s coming.”

“Bring it,” I said, voice low and fierce, my jacket creaking as I crossed my arms. “I’ve taken down worse than you.”

He laughed, sharp and dark, and walked off, leaving me buzzing—half pissed, half hooked. My phone buzzed again as I headed for the showers: He’s not what he seems. Check his locker. I froze, heart racing, the halls emptying around me. Locker? Fine. I’d play their game—but on my terms.

The locker room was a steamy crypt, all damp tiles and rusted metal, the air heavy with chlorine and the echo of dripping showers. I slipped in after hours, the school a ghost town, my sneakers silent against the slick floor. Noah’s locker—number 217—stood out, its door scratched with a jagged X like someone had clawed it open. I jimmied it with a hairpin, the lock clicking free, and yanked it open, my breath catching. Inside: a leather journal, edges singed, pages yellowed; a dagger with a hilt carved like a coiled snake; and a photo—me, at the dance, talisman glowing, pinned to the back with a note: She’s the key.

My blood ran cold, then hot, fury boiling up as I snatched the photo, the journal tumbling open. Scribbled inside: Time’s heir. Hunt or be hunted. My name, circled in red. Noah wasn’t just some cocky new kid—he was a player in this twisted game, and I was his target.

Footsteps echoed—sharp, fast—and I spun, shoving the stuff back, slamming the locker as Noah rounded the corner, green eyes glinting in the dim light. “Snooping, huh?” he said, voice a low growl, stepping closer. “Find anything you like?”

I grinned, feral and fearless, photo crumpled in my fist. “Yeah,” I said, stepping into him, my jacket brushing his. “A snake with a shitty poker face. Spill it, Kane—what’s your game?”

His smirk faltered, just a flicker, and he leaned in, breath hot against my ear. “You’re the game, Evelyn. And I’m not the only one playing.”

The air snapped tight, my heart a war drum, and I laughed—wild, unhinged—ready to tear this new dawn apart and build my legend on its bones. Let the hunt begin.