His Stolen Kiss, Her Lethal Cure

The next morning, the subway rattled violently as it shot through the dark tunnels under Manhattan.

Elia stood near the doors, holding the metal pole. She wore the same faded jeans, a black hoodie, and her scuffed canvas bag slung over one shoulder.

She stepped out of the station and walked the three blocks to Manhattan Elite Prep.

The campus looked like a medieval castle dropped into the middle of the city. Gothic stone archways, manicured lawns, and a fleet of black SUVs idling at the curb. Teenagers in tailored blazers and plaid skirts milled around, dripping in designer accessories.

Elia walked through the wrought-iron gates. She didn't look at the cars. She didn't look at the students staring at her cheap clothes.

She walked straight into the main administrative building and found the Admissions Office.

She pushed the heavy wooden door open without knocking.

Behind a large mahogany desk sat Ms. Adler, a thin woman with a pinched face and severe glasses. She was carefully applying a coat of blood-red nail polish.

Ms. Adler didn't look up. "Wait outside. Can't you see the door was closed?"

Elia walked to the desk. She pulled the gold-stamped envelope from her bag and dropped it flat onto the polished wood.

Smack.

Ms. Adler jumped. The red brush slipped, smearing polish across her knuckle.

She glared up, her face twisting in fury. She took one look at Elia's hoodie and sneered.

"You must be the charity case," Ms. Adler said, her voice dripping with venom. She grabbed a tissue, wiping her finger aggressively. "Geri warned me about you. The rust-belt dropout who somehow blackmailed her way in."

Elia's face remained a blank mask. She stared at the woman's smeared red finger.

"Process the file," Elia said.

Ms. Adler's eyes narrowed. She snatched the envelope, ripped it open, and typed aggressively on her keyboard.

"Don't think you're special," Ms. Adler spat, hitting the print button. "With zero academic background, the system automatically defaults you to the lowest tier. You are in Class 10."

Class 10. The dumping ground. The containment zone for the rich kids who were too stupid, too violent, or too addicted to function in normal classes, but whose parents paid too much money for them to be expelled.

Ms. Adler shoved a printed schedule across the desk. "Try to survive until lunch."

Elia took the paper. She turned and walked out, leaving the door wide open.

She navigated the labyrinth of hallways until she reached the basement level. The air here smelled of stale cologne and rebellion.

She stopped in front of the door marked Class 10.

Through the thick wood, the heavy, vibrating bass of a death metal track rattled the hinges.

Elia lifted her right foot and kicked the door directly in the center.

Crash.

The door slammed open, hitting the inner wall with the sound of a gunshot.

The heavy metal music was instantly cut off.

Thirty pairs of eyes snapped toward the doorway.

The classroom was a disaster. Desks were pushed together. A girl with heavy eyeliner was sitting on the teacher's desk, chewing gum. Two boys in the back were openly vaping.

Brenda Kowalski, the girl on the desk, popped her gum. She looked Elia up and down, taking in the canvas bag.

"Did the janitor get lost?" Brenda mocked loudly. "Or did the school finally go bankrupt and start letting the homeless sleep here?"

The classroom erupted in cruel, barking laughter.

A boy in the front row crumpled a piece of notebook paper into a tight ball and hurled it at Elia's head.

Elia didn't flinch. She tilted her head exactly two inches to the left.

The paper ball whizzed past her ear and bounced off the doorframe.

The laughter died instantly.

Elia stepped into the room. Her eyes swept over the crowd. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The sheer, physical weight of her stare made the boy who threw the paper swallow hard and look down at his desk.

She walked down the center aisle. She didn't rush.

She reached the last row. There was one empty desk next to the window.

The boy sitting in the adjacent desk was fast asleep, his head buried in his arms. He had messy blonde hair and wore a leather jacket over his uniform.

Elia swung her canvas bag off her shoulder and slammed it onto her desk.

Thud.

The sleeping boy jerked awake.

Cody Powers rubbed his eyes, scowling. He looked at Elia, his face twisting in annoyance.

"What the hell is your problem?" Cody snapped, leaning toward her. "I was sleeping."

Elia slowly turned her head. She locked eyes with him.

Her gaze was so cold, so entirely devoid of fear or hesitation, that Cody's breath caught in his throat. A primal instinct warned him that the girl sitting next to him was dangerous.

He closed his mouth and leaned back in his chair.

The bell rang. Ms. Adler marched into the room, her heels clicking aggressively. She glared at Elia, then turned to the chalkboard.

Meanwhile, three floors up, in the Headmaster's lavish office.

Kane Wolf sat behind the Headmaster's desk. He was wearing a black suit, his long legs stretched out.

The Headmaster stood nervously in the corner, sweating through his shirt.

Kane held a tablet. On the screen was the live security feed from the hallway outside Class 10. He watched Elia kick the door open.

A dark, genuine smile spread across Kane's face.

He tapped his earpiece.

"Lex," Kane murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Keep eyes on her. I want to know every breath she takes in this building."