"Some rules are made to be bent. Others are meant to be broken."
The clock ticked past 6:00 PM.
The hallways of St. Laurent College were eerily quiet, lit only by the soft flicker of motion-sensitive lights and the golden spill of sunset streaming through high windows. Every door was shut except one.
Room B104.
Inside sat Isla Romero, her arms folded across her chest, foot tapping against the floor. Detention had never scared her rules rarely did but something about being alone this late, in a locked building, waiting for him, made her pulse tick a little faster.
He was always late.
Always composed.
Always watching.
Professor Maddox Hale. Literature professor by day. Something far more dangerous by night.
He walked in ten minutes late, as always, carrying nothing but a black leath
