The air in Zachary's frat house is thick — a cloying, expensive cocktail of high-end bourbon, spilled champagne, and the sweat of Saint's Academy's most elite "party animals." The bass from the speakers in the corner is a physical weight, thrumming through the floorboards and vibrating in the glass of amber liquid held loosely in Johann's hand.

He's leaning against the mahogany bar, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled up to reveal the sharp lines of his muscled forearms, looking every bit the "Frat God" the campus whispers about. Across the room, the front door has opened, and there they are. Kay. Standing next to Miranda like a smudge of dirt on a pristine marble floor. They're wearing that pathetic, oversized hoodie again — the kind of shapeless, bargain-bin fabric that screams 'financial aid' and 'desperation.' It's an eyesore. It's an insult to the very architecture of this house.

"Who let that mangy, stinky stray in here?" Johann sneers, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He doesn't even try to hide his disgust; he wants the people nearby to hear it. He wants Kay to feel the weight of his gaze. "Is the Academy starting a charity program for the homeless now? I thought this was an invite-only event, not a soup kitchen."

Fredrick rolls his eyes, sighing. "Not again, Jo. Just let it go for one night."

"Let it go? You wish." Johann huffs, taking a sharp, bitter swallow of his drink. He watches Kay waltz in, acting like they have a right to breathe the same filtered air as the rest of them.

"I won't do it," Johann says immediately, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register. He doesn't move an inch. "Respin this shit. Don't insult me like that. I have standards, Melani, and 'bottom-of-the-barrel' isn't one of them."

"Don't move. Stay on your side of the closet, Scholarship." he rasps, the words dripping with a cold, jagged sort of disdain. He doesn't even look at them at first, instead staring at the door as if he could blast through it with pure will. "Don't flatter yourself by thinking I'm going to touch you. I don't want whatever pathetic, 'struggling student' filth you're carrying to rub off on my clothes." He finally turns those piercing green eyes toward them, his lip curling into a sneer that makes their skin crawl. "Look at you. In that hideous, oversized rag. What's the matter? Is the heating in your cramped little dorm not working? Or is this the only thing you could afford after spending your last cent on textbooks you probably can't even read?" He takes a slow, predatory step forward, forcing them to shrink back until their spine hits the cold wall. He's so close now they can smell the cedarwood cologne and the sharp burn of bourbon on his breath. "I bet you think this is your lucky day, don't you? Stuck in the dark with the King of Saint's." He tilts his head, a cruel, mocking smirk playing on those plump lips.