Kieran's Point of View
She left without a word.
No glance back. No smirk. No gloating. Just… left.
Jean always moved like she didn't owe anyone a damn thing. Back straight, eyes forward, the kind of walk that said I survived worse than you, so get out of my way. She didn't walk — she declared territory. Just a quick blur down the hallway, her messy bun bouncing like it had opinions of its own. There was something about the way she walked—determined, like she was always five steps ahead of everyone, even if she was bleeding.
I stayed standing even after the door clicked shut behind her, staring at the space she left like it had something to tell me. Something I missed.
The nurse cleared her throat. Loud. Deliberate.
Right. I nodded like that fixed everything, muttered a thanks I didn't mean, and headed out. My shoulder ached. My face throbbed. But mostly it was my head — that dull buzzing at the back of the skull that comes after adrenaline dies and you're just left with thoughts you didn't ask for.
The bell rang as I reached the classroom.
Last period.
The slowest, stupidest hour of the day. The one where time stretches like it wants revenge. I slipped into my seat in the back corner, the one with the busted chair and years of gum fossils underneath. My kingdom.
Jennie turned around before I even sat.
"What the fuck happened to you?" she whispered, eyes scanning my face like I was a crime scene.
"Got into a disagreement with the laws of physics," I muttered.
"You look like you won."
"Story of my life."
She frowned. "You should go back to the nurse—"
"I'm fine."
Jennie wasn't buying it, but she turned around anyway. I appreciated that. The ones who don't push — those are rare.
The teacher droned on about something. Probably cell structures or the Industrial Revolution. Or both. It all blurred together when you're floating two inches outside your own skull. I leaned forward on my desk, cheek against arm, and let the world slip.
Didn't mean to sleep. Just… blinked a little too long.
Darkness, half-dreams. Broken fragments of memory and motion. Jean's voice — sharp, familiar, echoing through it all.
Then light.
I came to slowly, like climbing out of mud. The clock said I'd been out twenty minutes. The classroom was quieter now, emptier. A few desks still occupied, but most had bolted when the bell rang. And there she was.
Jean.
At the front of the room, leaning against the teacher's desk like she owned it, flipping through handouts. Not snooping. Not messing around. Actually asking the teacher questions. Her voice was low, calm. Professional, almost. Like she was two people — the one who threw punches in the hallways and the one who corrected grammar in essays.
The teacher looked relieved when she finished, mumbling something about staying out of trouble and hurrying out like the walls were closing in.
Then it was just us.
I stayed still, pretending to sleep. Watching her without watching her. Her back to me, scrolling her phone like nothing mattered. Like she hadn't just turned a normal school day into an episode of something gritty and slow-burn.
"You gonna keep pretending to sleep, or should I call an ambulance?"
I groaned, mostly for dramatic effect. "Depends. You planning to finish the job or just check my pulse?"
She turned halfway toward me, one eyebrow raised. "Please. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"Comforting."
"Why are you still here?"
"Same reason you are, probably."
She crossed her arms. "I'm not hiding."
"Didn't say you were. But people don't usually stick around after they almost get suspended."
She shrugged. "I had questions."
"About what — schoolwork or self-defense techniques?"
She smirked, and for a second I swore I saw something soft slip through. Not pity. Never pity. Just… recognition.
"You talk a lot," she said finally.
"Bad habit."
"Annoying one."
"Yours too."
We stared each other down, but it wasn't hostile. Not exactly. There was something underneath it. Like we were both toeing the edge of a cliff, daring the other to jump first.
She grabbed her bag. "Are you leaving or just planning to haunt the classroom forever?"
I stood, stretched. "Following you, obviously. In case you collapse under the weight of your ego."
She didn't dignify that with a response.
We walked side by side, but not together, through the empty hallway. The echo of our footsteps was weirdly loud. I kept sneaking glances — not because I wanted to, just… reflex. She looked the same. And different. Still untouchable. Still ice. But quieter now, like the storm had passed and left something else behind.
Outside, the sun hung low in the sky, painting everything in an orange-gold glow, like the world was trying to be pretty just for us. The parking lot was almost deserted now — only three cars left.
One was mine — sleek, understated, and expensive. The kind of car people wouldn't expect me to own. I liked it that way. Let them wonder.
The other were same— jet black, tinted windows, humming like it was bored of sitting still. Hers, apparently.
Jean walked toward it like it was second nature.
I stood still.
She had a car?
Since when?
And why did it feel like that mattered?
Maybe because it wasn't just the car. It wasn't the money — I knew that game too well. It was the ease. The way she moved, like she wasn't just surviving this town, but already planning her exit strategy. Like she was always five steps ahead of me — ahead of all of us.
It wasn't just the car. It was everything it stood for — mystery, distance, a life with lines I couldn't read. Jean was already on the next page, and I was still stuck rereading the first paragraph.
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes catching mine.
No words.
Just waiting.
Jean stopped beside her car, arms folded — her default stance. Like she didn't trust the world enough to let her hands rest.
"Well?" she asked, her voice a single word, expectant.
"Well," I echoed, because I couldn't help myself.
"You're still here."
"So are you."
She glanced at my car, then back at me. "Didn't expect you to drive something this nice."
"You thought I walked everywhere?"
"I just didn't think you'd care about impressing people."
I shrugged. "I don't. But I do like a smooth ride."
She gave the smallest smile. "Makes sense."
The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable, just heavy — like we were both waiting for something.
"Why'd you do it?" I finally asked.
She didn't pretend not to know what I meant.
A breeze kicked up, tugging at her jacket, blowing a strand of hair across her face. She didn't fix it. Just let it hang there, like it didn't matter. Like she didn't care who noticed.
"It wasn't about him," she said, her voice softer now. Almost like she hated the honesty in it. "Sometimes you just have to remind people you're not an easy target."
That was the most honest thing I'd heard all day.
Fair enough.
She didn't ask if I was coming. She just opened her car's door and slid in.
And I just stood there, not sure if I was being left behind… or invited.