The cafeteria at school smelled like damp cardboard and reheated synth-protein.

  The noise hit me first. A physical wall of sound. Two thousand voices, the screech of metal chairs, the hum of cleaning drones—it rattled my teeth. Three tables over, a freshman chewed with his mouth open. Smack. Smack. The air was thick with the scent of hormonal teenagers, ozone from frying electronics, and the cloying aroma of "Tuesday Surprise," which looked suspiciously like gray paste molded into the shape of a burger.

  I dropped my tray onto the table with a plastic clatter.

  “I’m just saying,” Cody said, waving a fork loaded with neon-green gelatin. “If the government didn’t want us to hack the vending machines, they shouldn’t have used 64-bit encryption. It’s practically an invitation for hacking.

  Tessa O’Connor didn’t look up from her comm-mirror. She was applying a fresh layer of holographic gloss to her lips; the color shifting from cherry red to void black every time she blinked. “Cody, if you get detention again, you’re going to miss the squad stream. And if you miss the stream, our subscriber count drops. Do you want to be responsible for our social death?”

  “It was for the greater good, Tess. Free energy drinks for the people.” Cody shoved the gelatin into his mouth, grinning. A speck of green wobbled on his chin.

  I sat down, my spine stiff. The noise in the room was a physical weight. The heartbeat of the girl behind me fluttered fast because she hadn’t studied for her chem test.

  Dial it down, I told myself. Human ears. Human nose. You are just a girl eating gray paste.

  “You okay, Nikki?” Tessa snapped her compact shut, the sharp click cutting through the din. “You’ve been staring at that burger like it insulted your ancestors.”

  “Just thinking,” I said, picking up the synth-burger. It felt rubbery. “wondering if this cow had a name, or just a serial number.”

  “Gross,” Tessa wrinkled her nose. “Don’t personify the protein. Clone cows aren't real animals. The real cattle are happy living in the wild.”

  “Except the wolves eat them,” said Cody before he bit his gelatin.

  “Handy,” I subvocalized, chewing a small bite that tasted like salted cardboard. “Scan the room. Passive mode. Just tell me if any corporate troop transport crashes through the wall.”

  “Status: No vehicular threats,” Handy’s voice buzzed in my auditory nerve. “However, aggressive starch levels detected in Sector 4. Warning: Ballistic mashed potatoes imminent.”

  Great.

  I scanned the room anyway. Old habits. Or rather, new instincts. My eyes swept over the cliques—the Tech-Heads huddled around a disassembled drone, the Glams judging everyone’s outfit resolution; the Jocks flexing in their compression gear.

  Then my gaze snagged on the corner.

  The shadow in the back.

  Danny Troy sat alone at a small table near the emergency exit. He wasn’t looking at a device. He wasn’t eating. He was just… existing.

  The room buzzed. He didn't. He sat with a stillness that made the surrounding air look grainy. He sat with his back perfectly straight, his hands resting on the table. He had a tray of food in front of him—an apple and a bottle of water—but he hadn’t touched it. The shadows from the overhead vents seemed to cling to him, dimming the harsh fluorescent glare around him.

  He wore that same expensive, careless tech-wear. The collar of his jacket was turned up, framing the pale line of his jaw.

  “Handy,” I thought. “Is the signal still scrambled?”

  “Worse,” the AI grumbled. “I tried to ping his smartwatch to see what music he’s listening to—purely for research, obviously—and I got a feedback loop that nearly fried my logic center. It’s like trying to read a book that’s constantly rewriting itself.”

  I narrowed my eyes. My vision zoomed, focusing on him. I caught the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. It was too slow. A resting heart rate that would make a marathon runner jealous, or a corpse proud.

  “You know him?” I asked aloud, nodding toward the corner.

  Tessa turned, her ponytail whipping around. Her eyes lit up instantly. “Him?”

  “Yes, him. Danny Troy.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, leaning over the table as if saying his name too loud would shatter the spell. “I know he's the new transfer. But total mystery. Nobody knows where he came from, but everyone knows he’s loaded.”

  “Loaded?” Cody scoffed. “Look at his boots. Those are vintage combat stompers. You can’t even buy those anymore. You have to scavenge them from the junkyard or a shady dealer.”

  “Exactly,” Tessa said. “Eccentric rich. My favorite kind.”

  “Have you talked to him?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the figure in the corner. He hadn’t moved.

  “I tried,” Tessa sighed, resting her chin in her hand. “I walked by his locker yesterday—accidentally on purpose—and dropped my stylus. He picked it up before it even hit the ground. Handed it to me without saying a word. Just… nodded. It was intense. He has these eyes, Nikki. Like, dark matter eyes.”

  “Dark matter eyes?” I snorted. “You’ve been reading too many romance sims.”

  “It’s true! He’s so… brooding. Mysterious. The girls in the homeroom say he’s some kind of exiled prince, or maybe a corporate heir running away from his responsibilities.”

  “Or he’s just weird,” Cody muttered, stabbing his synth-burger. “I bet he’s a total dud. Probably has zero personality. Just sits there looking pretty to hide the fact that he can’t hold a conversation.”

  “Jealousy is a bad look on you, Miller,” I said, smirking.

  Cody bristled. “I’m not jealous! I can be mysterious. Watch this.” He slumped in his chair, narrowed his eyes, and tried to look brooding. He mostly just looked like he had indigestion.

  “Stunning,” I deadpanned. “I’m captivated.”

  “You guys don’t get it,” Cody said, sitting up and grabbing his spoon. “Cool isn’t about sitting in a corner. Cool is about skill. Reflexes. Swagger.”

  He balanced the plastic spoon on the edge of his water bottle. “Check this out. The Gravity Hammer.”

  “Cody, don’t,” Tessa warned.

  “Watch and learn.”

  Cody slammed his fist down. The spoon didn't flip. It catapulted. The green slime launched, arcing high over the aisle.

  It cleared the aisle. It cleared the next table.

  It landed with a wet thwack on the back of a linebacker’s neck. Specifically, Rockie“The Wall” Veil, the varsity defensive tackle who had a temper shorter than his buzzcut.

  The cafeteria went silent.

  Rockie slowly reached up, touching the back of his neck. He pulled his hand away, inspecting the green slime. He turned around. His eyes locked on Cody.

  “Uh oh,” Cody whispered.

  “Run,” Handy suggested.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Rockie didn’t use words. He picked up his entire tray—loaded with mashed potatoes, gravy, and a carton of milk—and hurled it.

  Cody ducked.

  The tray sailed over his head and struck a passing freshman, exploding in a shower of white and brown. The freshman screamed. His friends retaliated.

  “Food fight!” someone shrieked.

  It was mayhem. Beautiful, stupid mayhem.

  Students dove under tables. Cartons of milk became grenades. A banana hit Tessa’s shoulder, leaving a smudge on her pristine uniform.

  “My cashmere blend!” she wailed, grabbing her tray to use as a shield.

  “Incoming at twelve o’clock!” Handy shouted.

  My head snapped up. Through the blizzard of flying lunch, a heavy metal tray spun through the air. Rockie had thrown with serious force, likely it or one of his hulking friends.

  It wasn’t aiming for Cody. It was curving.

  Straight for my face.

  My reflexes flared. The wolf brain calculated the trajectory instantly. Impact imminent. Damage to facial structure likely. Intercept.

  My hand moved.

  My hand twitched. Catch it? No. Too fast. Too public. I had to take the hit.

  I clenched my jaw, preparing for the impact. I’d roll with it, maybe fake a concussion.

  Brace.

  The tray was two feet away. One foot.

  Then, the air shifted.

  A blur of black motion cut across my vision. It wasn’t a run; it was a flicker. One second the space in front of me was empty, the next, occupied.

  A hand shot up.

  Thud.

  The heavy tray stopped dead in mid-air, inches from my nose. There was no recoil. No struggle. The hand just plucked the spinning metal out of the sky like it was a floating feather.

  The force of the catch sent a shockwave of air against my face, blowing my bangs back.

  I blinked, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

  Standing between me and the flying lunch was Danny Troy.

  He hadn't even broken a sweat. He held the tray effortlessly in one hand, his arm extended, his body creating a shield between me and the mayhem.

  A piece of lettuce drifted slowly past his ear.

  He lowered the tray, setting it gently onto my table next to my untouched water bottle. Then he turned to look at me.

  Up close, the "void" sensation was overwhelming. He smelled of cold air—like the inside of a freezer—and spearmint. Underneath that, the faint, metallic tang of iron. His skin was flawless, pale as bone china, and I could see the faint blue tracery of veins at his temple.

  Thump.

  …

  Thump.

  Slow. Impossibly slow. Like a clock winding down.

  “You okay?”

  His voice was low, a baritone that I felt in my chest. It wasn’t the voice of a teenager. It had grit in it, a texture like velvet dragged over gravel.

  I stared at him, my mouth ajar. My brain was trying to reconcile the physics of what just happened. He had covered thirty feet in less than a second.

  “I… yeah,” I managed, my voice sounding tinny in my own ears. “I think so.”

  “Good.”

  He didn't smile. He just scanned my face, his dark eyes cataloging every detail. There was no hunger in his look, no creepiness. Just an intense, analytical assessment.

  Around us, the war raged on. A glop of pudding splattered against Danny’s back, staining his expensive jacket. He didn't even flinch. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Alert,” Handy whispered. “Sec-Bots inbound. ETA five seconds. Recommend disengaging before you get detained for unauthorized starch distribution.”

  On cue, the cafeteria doors slammed open.

  “CEASE ACTIVITIES IMMEDIATELY,” a mechanical voice boomed.

  Three Security Bots rolled in on omni-wheels. They were barrel-chested droids painted in the school’s colors, blue and gold, but the stun-batons extending from their arms were strictly military gray.

  “STUDENTS IN SECTOR FOUR. REMAIN STATIONARY.”

  The room froze. Students dropped their weaponized food. Hands went up.

  Danny turned slowly to face the bots. He didn't raise his hands. He just stood there, blocking me from view.

  “You’ve got pudding on your jacket,” I said. The words tumbled out before I could stop them. It was a stupid thing to say. A defense mechanism. When in doubt, snark.

  Danny glanced over his shoulder. He saw the brown smear on the matte black fabric. He stared at the stain on his sleeve.

  “Collateral damage,” he said.

  “What trade?” I stood up, my legs feeling a little shaky. Not from fear, but from the adrenaline crash. “Human shield?”

  “Something like that.” He turned back to me, ignoring the Sec-Bot rolling toward us with its lights flashing. “That tray was moving fast. Would have broken your nose.”

  “I have a hard head,” I said, crossing my arms. “And fast reflexes. I might have caught it.”

  He looked at my hands, then back to my eyes. A spark of amusement danced in his dark irises. “Maybe. But I didn’t want to take the bet.”

  The bot stopped in front of us. “IDENTIFY,” it chirped, scanning us with a red laser grid.

  “Danny Troy,” he said calmly. “Student ID 894-Alpha.”

  “Nikki Nova,” I added, glaring at the laser. “And we’re the victims here, tin can. Check the footage.”

  The bot whirred, processing. “VICTIM STATUS CONFIRMED. YOU MAY PROCEED TO CLASS. CLEANUP CREW DEPLOYED.”

  The bot rolled away to harass Cody, who was currently trying to scrape gelatin off his sneakers.

  I turned back to Danny. He was already moving, picking up his bag from the floor.

  “Hey,” I called out.

  He stopped, looking back.

  “That was… fast,” I said, probing. I needed to see how he reacted. “Like, Olympic sprinter fast. You on the track team?”

  “Adrenaline,” he said. It was a practiced answer. Smooth. Rehearsed. “The body goes into overdrive when you see danger. You know how it is.”

  “Do I?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Everyone has instincts, Nikki.”

  He used my name. I hadn’t introduced myself to him before the bot did. He’d remembered it instantly.

  “Well,” I said, flipping my cheer bag onto my shoulder, my hand brushing the hidden pocket where my knife lived. “Thanks for the save. Even if you ruined a perfectly good brooding session in the corner.”

  He actually laughed then. It was a dry, rusty sound, like he hadn’t used it in a while. “I wasn’t brooding. I was observing.”

  “Observing what? The social hierarchy of the cafeteria?”

  “Something like that.” He took a step closer.

  The magnetic pull hit me again. The static in my head grew louder, a white noise warning from Handy. Proximity alert. Signal density increasing.

  He was too close. I could count the eyelashes framing those impossible eyes. I could feel the cold radiating off him, cooling the sweat on my skin.

  “You’re different,” he whispered. It wasn’t a question.

  My heart skipped a beat. He knows.

  “I’m a cheerleader,” I deflected, forcing a bright, fake smile. “We’re built different. It’s the hairspray fumes.”

  He didn't buy it. I could see it in his face. He saw right through the pom-poms and the smile. He saw the tension in my shoulders, the way I shifted my weight onto the balls of my feet, ready to spring.

  “Right,” he said, backing off. The intensity dialed down, the mask sliding back into place. He looked at the floor, suddenly looking like just an awkward teenage boy. “Well. Watch out for flying trays.”

  “Watch out for pudding,” I shot back.

  He nodded, once, and turned to walk away. He moved through the crowd like smoke, weaving between the students and the cleaning drones touching no one.

  I watched him go.

  “Handy,” I whispered.

  “Still here. Still blind,” the AI replied. “I couldn’t get a biometric read even when he was two feet away. Nikki, that jacket? It’s lined with signal-dampening mesh. The special ops used.”

  “He’s not special ops,” I murmured.

  “Then what is he?”

  I rubbed the spot on my arm where the wolf bite was hidden. The scar tingled, a phantom itch.

  “He’s perfect,” I breathed. “Too perfect.”

  “I’d say ‘tall, dark, and suspicious’ is a better description,” Handy noted.

  “No. I mean the catch. The timing. The pulse. He’s engineered, Handy. Just like me.”

  I looked at the empty spot where he had vanished into the hallway. The fear was there, coiling in my gut. But underneath the fear was something else. Something dangerous.

  Curiosity.

  “Let’s go,” I said, turning back to find Tessa and Cody. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Tessa was wiping a banana off her shoulder with a napkin. “Did you see that?” she squealed as I approached. “He saved you! It was like a movie! A very messy, high-calorie movie!”

  “He caught a tray, Tess. He didn’t slay a dragon.”

  “Basically the same thing,” she insisted. “He’s totally into you.”

  “He’s into not getting hit by flying metal,” I corrected. “Cody, let’s go. Before the bots decide your shoes are a biohazard.”

  Cody groaned, standing up. “My street cred is ruined. I got taken out by a carton of 2% milk.”

  We walked out of the cafeteria, leaving the disaster zone behind. But the silence of the hallway felt heavier now.

  I touched my nose, remembering the rush of wind as Danny’s hand stopped the impact.

  You’re different, Danny had said.

  I had a feeling that if he said he was different too, then my guard better go up.

  I pulled my phone out and typed a note into my encrypted file.

  I pocketed the phone. The wolf paced under my skin. It knew the scent of a predator. It just wasn't sure if we were the hunter, or the bait.