Page 14 of In Shadows We Dance

My heart pounds, my skin burning where his fingers rest against my wrist. I want to pull away, to put distance between us, but I can’t. Not without drawing attention. Not without making a scene.

It would make people look. It would make them see me.

“Quite a show,” Wren muses, his thumb brushing over my racing pulse. “Amazing how quickly chaos draws a crowd. Makes you wonder what else they’d flock to, doesn’t it?”

The way he says it—like he’s talking about something far more intimate than the wreck before us—sends a fresh wave of unease crashing over me. He’s too close, his words too knowing, his touch too familiar.

“Let go,” I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice.

He does, but not before his fingers trail down my arm, a deliberate touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake. “As you wish.”

I turn, and run, darting through gaps until I’m back inside. I aim for the nearest restroom, and lock myself inside a stall until my breathing steadies.

What the hell was that?

Outside, other girls filter in and out, their voices high with excitement as they dissect what just happened. None of them sound concerned about the missing driver. They’re just thrilled to have something to talk about, to post about, to make another boring school day extraordinary.

When the restroom finally empties, I step out. The mirror shows what I expect—pale face, wide eyes, hair coming loose from its ponytail. My hands shake as I tighten the elastic, forcing myself to focus on the familiar task. I take my time fixing it, using the routine to push Wren’s words and touch from my mind.

It was just a car crash. A fluke accident that caught everyone’s attention.

By the time I reach the classroom, my heart rate has mostly settled. Students are still trickling in, their conversations centered on what happened. Through the window, I can see people gathering around the wreck, probably getting ready to clear it away.

I take my seat, and pull out my notebook. My skin still burns where Wren’s fingers circled my wrist, and I rub at the spot, thinking about how easily he held me in place. How naturally he’d inserted himself into my space. How, despite the chaos andcrowd, he still managed to make me feel like I was the only person he was truly watching.

My pen moves across the paper, creating meaningless patterns, while the teacher’s voice drones on.

Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow he’ll forget about the girl who spilled orange juice on him. Tomorrow everything will go back to normal.

But deep down, I know the truth is something else.

Tomorrow, he’ll still be watching me.

CHAPTER 8

The Mask Slips

WREN

I letIleana go without a fight, and she disappears into the school, her steps quick and uneven. The way her arm trembled when I held her wrist replays in my mind as I turn back to study the crash scene, but there’s something else tugging at my attention. Something about the car is bothering me, like a half-formed thought I can't quite grasp.

While other students file back inside, I circle the wreck. The hood is crumpled like paper, embedded in the brick wall as though the driver aimed for it. No skid marks. No sign they tried to stop.

“Carlisle, why are you still out here? Go to class.”

I turn at Principal Warrington’s bellow, hiding my annoyance at the interruption. “I’m curious about the car.”

“You should be curious about what you’re going to learn in your next class.”

“It’s English Literature. I doubt Shakespeare is going to teach me anything that’s going to be of any use when I graduate.”

“You’d be surprised.” He descends the steps, stopping beside the trunk of the car. “You can go back inside now,” he tells the hovering teachers.

Once they’re gone, I move to stand beside him. “Did anyone see it happen?”

His eyes narrow slightly. “You tell me.”

“It’s nothing to do with me.”

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