Chapter 2 Shattered (Brynn POV)
"I'm just saying, those eyes were illegal," Harper said for the fifth time as we sprinted across campus toward our dorm. "Like, criminally attractive. We should report him to campus security."
"Harper, we have twenty minutes to change and get to the assembly." I checked my phone again, anxiety coiling tighter in my chest. "Can you obsess over the hot new guy later?"
"I'm not obsessing. I'm appreciating. There's a difference." She fumbled with her key card at the entrance to Sterling Hall, our residence building. "Besides, you're the one who looked like you'd been struck by lightning when you bumped into him."
"I did not..."
"Your face went completely blank. Your pupils dilated. I'm pretty sure you stopped breathing for a solid five seconds."
The door finally clicked open, and we rushed inside. The elevator was broken so we took the stairs two at a time to the third floor. By the time we reached our room, I was breathless and Harper was still talking.
"I did some research on my phone." She pushed open our door, heading straight for her closet. "Jaxon Hale transferred from some prestigious prep school in Charlotte. His family owns Hale Industries, you know, the company that manufactures medical equipment? They're worth like, hundreds of millions."
"Good for them." I stripped off my academy polo, tossing it onto my bed. The room was small but organized—Harper's side decorated with fairy lights and inspirational quotes, mine sparse except for a few photos of my grandmother and my old lacrosse medals that I couldn't bring myself to throw away.
"He's probably never even looked at a scholarship application," Harper continued, pulling out a clean blouse. "Meanwhile, we're over here living on financial aid and cafeteria meal plans."
I yanked a fresh shirt over my head. "Is there a point to this commentary?"
She turned to face me, her expression softening. "The point is, don't get your hopes up. Guys like that don't date girls like us."
"I'm not trying to date him. I literally met him for five seconds."
"But you felt something."
I had. That inexplicable pull, like gravity had shifted and he'd become my center of orbit. But admitting it out loud felt dangerous, like giving power to something I didn't understand.
"It doesn't matter," I said, grabbing my academy blazer. "Can we go?"
Harper studied me for another moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Let's get this over with."
The auditorium was already packed by the time we arrived. Students filled the tiered seating, their voices creating a cacophony that made my head pound. Harper and I found seats near the middle, far enough back to avoid attention but close enough to see the stage.
"Any bets on what this is about?" Harper whispered, scanning the crowd. "I heard someone broke into the chemistry lab last week."
"Maybe." I wasn't really listening. My gaze kept drifting across the room, searching for amber eyes in a sea of faces.
Stop it, I told myself. You're being ridiculous.
But then I found him. Jaxon sat near the front with a group of guys I recognized as lacrosse players, all of them sharing that same athletic build, that same confident posture. He wasn't looking at me, but something about his stillness suggested awareness, like he was deliberately not looking in my direction.
"There he is," Harper breathed. "God, even from here he's gorgeous. Do you think..."
The lights dimmed, cutting off her speculation. Dean Whitmore took the stage, his expression grave beneath the harsh spotlight. The room fell silent with the kind of abruptness that only happened when students sensed serious consequences on the horizon.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice." The Dean's voice boomed through the speakers, authoritative and unyielding. "I know mandatory assemblies are disruptive, but recent events have made it necessary to address a persistent issue within our community."
My stomach clenched. Recent events. That phrase never meant anything good.
"Over the past month, we've had multiple incidents of violence on campus. Fights in the dormitories. Vandalism of school property. And most concerning, reports of threatening behavior between students."
Confused murmurs rippled through the crowd. I hadn't heard about any of this. Then again, I'd been purposely isolating myself, avoiding social situations that might trigger another episode.
"Today, we're going to discuss aggression management," Dean Whitmore continued. "And to help us understand the consequences of unchecked anger, I've asked Dr. Reeves to present a case study."
No.
No, no, no.
Dr. Reeves walked onto the stage, her laptop already connected to the projector. A presentation slide appeared on the massive screen behind her: "Understanding Aggressive Behavior: A Cautionary Tale."
Harper grabbed my hand. "Brynn..."
"It's fine," I whispered, but my voice sounded strangled even to my own ears.
"Last year," Dr. Reeves began, her voice clinically detached, "this academy experienced a significant incident that resulted in national media attention. One of our students had a violent altercation during an athletic event that was captured on video and viewed millions of times."
The screen changed. Freeze-frame of me, hands around another girl's throat, face contorted in rage.
The auditorium erupted in whispers. Heads turned. Eyes found me in the crowd like heat-seeking missiles. I felt every single stare like a physical touch, invasive and violating.
"This student exhibited classic signs of aggression dysregulation," Dr. Reeves continued, completely oblivious—or worse, deliberately ignoring—my presence in the audience. "The inability to control emotional responses. The tendency toward violent outbursts. The lack of consideration for consequences."
Heat flooded my body. My hands trembled where they gripped the armrests.
"As you can see in this footage, the attack was unprovoked and excessive..."
"It wasn't unprovoked," I heard myself say, my voice cutting through the whispers like a blade.
The auditorium fell silent. Dr. Reeves froze mid-sentence. Every eye in the room swiveled to me.
"Brynn..." Harper's voice was urgent, warning.
"You said it was unprovoked," I continued, standing up. My legs felt unsteady, but rage was a clarifying force. "But you didn't show what happened before. You didn't mention that she'd been targeting me all game. That she'd been fouling me deliberately while the refs looked the other way."
"Brynn, this isn't the time..." Dr. Reeves started.
"Then when is the time?" My voice rose, echoing off the walls. "When were you planning to tell them the truth instead of using me as your convenient example of what not to do?"
"Sit down." Dean Whitmore's voice cracked like a whip. "Now."
But I couldn't. Something was building inside me, pressure accumulating behind a dam that had been weakening for a year. Every therapy session. Every pitying look. Every whispered comment in the hallway. Every night I'd spent alone, punishing myself for losing control.
The dam broke.
Pain erupted behind my eyes, white-hot and searing. I gasped, doubling over, and suddenly the world shifted. Colors became sharper. Sounds amplified until I could hear individual heartbeats thundering throughout the auditorium. Scents exploded across my senses, sweat, fear, perfume, and something else. Something wild and ancient.
"Brynn?" Harper's voice sounded distant.
My vision blurred, then snapped into crystalline focus. I looked down at my hands and watched in horror as my fingernails extended into claws, sharp and curved. My jaw ached, teeth shifting and elongating.
Someone screamed.