The next day at school felt like trying to focus on algebra while my brain replayed a horror movie on loop.
Claws. Glowing eyes. Devon’s voice, low and raw, saying, “You don’t know what it’s like.”
I doodled wolves in the margins of my notebook before realizing what I was doing and scribbling them out until the page nearly tore. Smooth, Ivy. Totally normal.
“You look like you’re plotting murder,” Riley whispered, leaning across the desk with her usual smirk.
“I’m not,” I muttered, slamming my notebook shut.
“Okay, so… who’s the lucky guy?” she sing-songed, because of course she would.
My head shot up. “What? No one. I’m just—tired.”
Riley’s eyebrow arched like she didn’t buy it for a second. “Right. Because you always look like you’re being haunted by… I don’t know, shirtless bad bo
