SWIPE RIGHT FOR THE ALPHA

CHAPTER SEVEN

ARIA

The corridors smelled faintly of polish and paper as I walked toward Mr Thorne’s office. The sound of my shoes clicking against the tiled floor echoed softly, a rhythm that filled the otherwise empty hall. The afternoon light spilled through the tall windows, painting golden rectangles across the floor. Dust motes floated lazily through the air — ordinary, quiet, harmless. But nothing about the thoughts clawing at my chest felt harmless.

I wasn’t even sure why I’d come here. Only that I needed answers — something, anything — to make sense of what I saw last night.

That flicker of gold in Adrian’s eyes. It had been so fast I almost doubted it myself. Almost. But the image kept replaying every time I blinked, like an afterimage burned into my mind.

It had to be the light, I told myself. It had to be.

But some part of me, the part that still believed in things science couldn’t explain, whispered: What if it wasn’t?

Mr Thorne’s door was slightly ajar. I hesitated in front of it, hearing faint shuffling and the scratch of a pen. My palms were damp, my pulse a steady drumbeat in my ears. What was I even going to say? Hey, sir, my classmate’s eyes glowed in the dark. Do we have vampires enrolled this semester?

Still, I lifted my hand and knocked.

“Come in,” came his deep, steady voice.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The office looked exactly as I remembered — neat stacks of papers, a framed degree from some university with an impossible name, and shelves lined with old books whose spines had faded to pale brown. A faint aroma of coffee mixed with old paper hung in the air, grounding and strangely comforting.

Thorne sat behind his mahogany desk, glasses perched low on his nose as he flipped through a folder. His gray-streaked hair glimmered under the light. He looked up the moment I entered, mild surprise flickering in his eyes.

“Aria,” he said, setting the papers down. “You’re not usually one to miss class. What brings you here?”

I clasped my hands together to keep them from fidgeting. “I just wanted to ask you something… it’s a little strange.”

His brow lifted, but his tone stayed even. “Go on.”

I took a breath, feeling the question claw its way out of my chest. “Is it possible,” I began carefully, “for someone’s reflexes to be… really fast? Like, faster than normal? And…” My throat tightened. “And for their eyes to glow?”

Thorne blinked, leaning back in his chair. “Glow?”

I nodded quickly, feeling my pulse spike. “Yeah, not in a creepy way or anything. I just—” I hesitated, hearing how ridiculous it sounded aloud. “I just thought to ask.”

He studied me, the corners of his mouth twitching with what looked like faint amusement. “Did you see something, Aria?”

“Not really,” I lied, forcing my voice to sound casual. “I just overheard someone say it once.”

Thorne smiled the kind of smile teachers reserved for students who weren’t fooling them. “If anyone thought they saw something like that, it was probably just a reflection. Light rays hitting the eyes at a certain angle can make them look… unusual. Especially in the dark.”

I nodded even though my stomach didn’t ease. His explanation was neat as if he’d rehearsed it.

“You’re overreacting,” he said more softly, his tone gentler now. “Reflexes can be trained — athletes, soldiers, anyone who practices focus. But glowing eyes?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s the stuff of myths. Trust the science, not your imagination.”

“Right,” I murmured, forcing a small smile. “Thank you, sir.”

He nodded and returned to his paperwork, already done with me. I turned and left the office, the door clicking shut behind me.

For a moment I just stood in the hallway, staring at the dull linoleum floor, letting his words sink in. Trust the science, not your imagination.

But it wasn’t imagination. I knew what I’d seen.

The bell rang just as I slipped back into the classroom. The air smelled faintly of dry markers and dust. Most of the students were talking, laughter bouncing off the walls.

Jenna waved at me, mouthing something about lunch later, but I barely heard her. I sank into my seat, pretending to dig through my bag, though my thoughts were far away — tangled in flashes of gold, in questions I couldn’t stop asking.

Maybe Thorne was right. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe my brain had filled in gaps, seen something that wasn’t there.

But deep down, beneath all the logic, I felt it — that pull. The heavy, invisible awareness of being watched.

Even in a crowded classroom, even with everyone talking, I felt it. The prickling at the back of my neck. The faint, electric hum in the air, like static before a storm.

By the time the bell rang for break, I had promised myself, I would head straight to the library like I always did pretend nothing happened, and forget the way his eyes caught the light.

I failed.

Adrian was leaning casually against the wall, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding a basketball. He was heading to the field maybe but without his friends.

The afternoon sunlight caught his hair, making it shimmer in streaks of bronze. He looked too composed, too sure of himself — like someone who always knew the world bent a little to his will.

The second my gaze landed on him, he looked up. His lips curled into that faint, infuriating smile that said he’d been waiting.

“Bookie,” he drawled, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a private joke.

The sound of it made me freeze mid-step. I hated that word — hated that he used it — but there was a part of me that responded before my mind could stop it.

“I told you not to call me that,” I said, though my voice came out softer than I wanted.

He smirked, pushing off the wall. “Still pretending you don’t like it?”

“I don’t,” I muttered, clutching my bag tighter. My pulse thudded against my skin. He always had this effect — like stepping too close to a flame, knowing you’ll get burned but being unable to back away.

He stopped a few steps in front of me, close enough that I could smell him — pine and soap and something sharper underneath, something wild, metallic, like rain hitting stone. His gaze dropped to meet mine, unhurried, assessing.

“You went to see Thorne this morning,” he said quietly.

My stomach dropped. “You were watching me?”

“Didn’t have to,” he replied. “You smell like that office — coffee, dust, and guilt.” His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “So, what did you ask him?”

My breath hitched. “Nothing important.”

“Really?” His voice dipped lower, a soft challenge. “Because you’ve been looking at me differently since last night.”

“I haven’t.”

His eyes glinted. “You have.”

I hated that he was right. My throat felt tight, the air between us thick. The hallway buzzed with passing voices and footsteps, but it all blurred away — just him and me standing there in that charged, suspended silence.

“I didn’t know I was being studied,” I said finally, forcing a laugh that sounded too nervous.

“You make it easy,” he murmured.

My pulse stuttered. “You think everything’s about you.”

He smiled, slow and confident. “You like me, don’t you? You couldn’t take your eyes off me in class.”

I blinked, thrown off balance. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t act surprised.” His tone was teasing but steady, almost serious beneath the playfulness. “You kept staring.”

“I wasn’t staring,” I said quickly, heat crawling up my neck. “You were the one—” I stopped myself before the rest slipped out.

Before I said you were the one whose eyes glowed.

He raised a brow, eyes sharp. “The one what?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, hugging my books to my chest like a shield. “You’re so full of yourself. Please, I have a class.”

He laughed softly — a low, husky sound that curled through me like smoke. “Right. Always the diligent student, having a class with the books at the library right?”

“Some of us actually care about grades,” I said, trying to sound composed.

“And some of us already know what matters more.”

“Like annoying me?”

“Exactly.” His grin softened, just slightly. And for a fleeting moment, his arrogance slipped away. He looked almost… human. “You make that too easy, Bookie.”

I rolled my eyes, stepping aside. “You really need a new hobby.”

He chuckled but didn’t move immediately. Then, with a sudden flick of movement, his hand caught the strap of my bag — not tight enough to stop me, just enough to make me look back. The light touch sent a jolt through me, unexpected and sharp.

“See you in tutorials today,” he said over his shoulder as he turned away, his voice low and deliberate. “I have so many questions about Dead Men Talking.”

I blinked, caught between irritation and confusion. “Of course you do,” I muttered. “That’s new — you studying.”

He gave a small, knowing smile. “Can’t wait for your answers, Bookie.”

And then he walked away, hands in his pockets, the sunlight catching the edges of his silhouette. He didn’t look back, but somehow, I knew he didn’t need to.

Because even as he disappeared down the hall, I still felt his presence like a whisper against my skin — steady, lingering, dangerous.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he’d been, trying to convince myself that the unease twisting in my stomach was just nerves. Just… curiosity.

But deep down, I knew better.

Something wasn't right.