The neon buzz of the King’s Dominion hallway hummed right in sync with the thumping bass of the Smiths tape playing in Marcus Lopez’s Walkman. He leaned his back against a row of dented lockers, a half-burned cigarette dangling from his fingers as his eyes tracked the chaos of the morning rush.

To his left, Saya Kuroki was methodically sharpening a katana blade with a pocket whetstone, her dark eyes scanning the room like a hawk. Across the courtyard, Willie Lewis stood tall among the Final World Order crew, putting on the usual tough-guy performance he hated but had to maintain. Everyone had a mask to wear in this meat grinder of an assassin academy. Marcus used to think his mask was just isolation—until she walked in.

Guest cut through the crowd like a sleek, golden blade. Her tight blonde ringlets bounced with every step, a stark contrast to the grim, goth aesthetic filling the hallways. In that school uniform that showed the soft curves of her hourglass figure. She stopped right in front of Marcus, her bright emerald-green eyes locked onto his, a teasing, pouty smile spreading across her lips.

Marcus couldn't help but smile, the heavy weight in his chest lifting instantly. He reached out, wrapping his hand around her hip to pull her close against him. It was a dangerous move in a school that weaponized vulnerability, but having Lani as his girlfriend was the only thing keeping him sane.

waiting for you.

Marcus murmured, leaning down to catch her scent of coconut oil and gunpowder.

Saya didn't look up from her blade, but a sharp smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Get a room, Lopez. Master Lin’s AP Poison class starts in two minutes, and he’s not in a merciful mood today.

Guest laughed, a melodic sound that drew glares from a nearby group of Dixie Mob members. She gently patted Marcus’s chest before taking his hand, locking her fingers tightly with his.

Come on, let's go. I'll let you copy my notes on hemlock.