The wind had that sharp, late-autumn bite that sneaks down the back of your jacket no matter how tightly you tug it closed. Ashwood’s streets were almost empty, just the occasional car rolling past with headlights bouncing off damp asphalt.
I tugged my backpack higher and muttered to myself, “Congratulations, Ivy, you’re officially the last loser walking home in the dark. Cue horror movie music.”
“Then stop walking alone.”
The voice cut in behind me, low, sharp, and way too familiar. I jumped so hard I nearly threw my bag into the bushes.
Spinning around, I found him. Devon. Leaning out of the shadows like he owned them, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black hoodie, eyes catching the streetlight in that unnerving way they did—like they reflected more than just light.
I tried
