Chapter 19 Kiss or Kill

Chapter 19 Kiss or Kill


Revenge was supposed to be simple. Cold. Clean. A straight line from the people who ruined my family to their downfall.

It was never supposed to feel like this.

I tell myself that as I walk down the hall after study hall, the sound of my own footsteps bouncing back at me. I tell myself I don’t care what Jace thinks of me, don’t care how he looks at me, don’t care about the cracks I’ve seen in him when no one else is watching.

Lies. All of it.

Because the second I hear his voice, low and sharp, echoing from behind me, my body reacts before my brain can catch up.

“Sinclair.”

I stop walking, my breath snagging in my throat. Slowly, I turn.

He’s leaning against the lockers like the hallway was built just to hold him up, his arms crossed, that unreadable expression painted across his face. His tie is loose, his shirt collar undone. Careless, calculated—like he’s the storm and the eye of it at the same time.

“What now?” I ask, aiming for bored but hitting shaky. “Want to accuse me of another crime I didn’t commit?”

His mouth twitches. It’s not quite a smile. It’s too sharp for that. “Depends. Did you commit one?”

I roll my eyes and move to pass him, but he shifts, quick, blocking me with one arm braced against the locker beside my head. He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t need to. The air itself crackles, charged with something I don’t want to name.

“Move,” I snap, but my voice lacks bite.

“Not until you answer me.”

The hallway is silent except for the hum of the fluorescent lights. It feels like the whole world has narrowed to this one sliver of space between us.

“Answer what?” I shoot back, hating how my pulse is skipping.

“Why you keep looking at me like you’re waiting for me to fall.” His voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it—anger, hurt, something else. “Why it feels like you want me close and gone at the same time.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Because how do I explain that he’s right? That I’ve studied him like a puzzle I can’t solve, that every time I think I hate him, I find another crack in the armor that makes me hesitate?

Instead, I glare. “You’re imagining things.”

His gaze flicks down. Just for a second. To my mouth.

The breath leaves me in a rush.

Suddenly, he’s closer. Inches closer. Not touching, but his presence is overwhelming. He smells like expensive cologne mixed with something rawer, the faint salt of sweat, the copper tang of adrenaline. His voice drops to a whisper.

“Careful, Sinclair. You keep looking at me like that, and people will think you actually want me.”

And God help me, I do.

I shouldn’t. I can’t. But the thought flashes through me like lightning: what if I let him? What if I gave in, just once, and let myself feel instead of fight?

The world tilts. My back presses into the cool metal of the locker, grounding me, even as my body betrays me by leaning the smallest fraction forward.

For one dangerous second, the possibility hangs between us. Kiss or kill.

His hand lowers from the locker, slow, deliberate, brushing the air near mine. My fingers twitch, traitorous, wanting to close the gap.

My chest is tight. My throat is dry. My mind screams one word over and over: no.

But my heart, traitor that it is, whispers yes.

The war inside me tears me open. I see Noah’s face. I see Jace’s. I feel the distance closing, the weight of everything crashing together, and I know if I let this happen—if I let myself want him—it’ll destroy me.

So I duck out from under his arm like I’m escaping a fire. My breath rushes out in a jagged gasp.

“Don’t,” I whisper. My voice is cracked, raw. “Don’t you dare.”

He straightens, mask sliding into place, but for a flicker of a second I see it—confusion. Hurt. Then it’s gone, replaced with that sharp smirk he wears like armor.

“Running again, Sinclair?”

I don’t answer. I turn and walk, fast, almost running, desperate to put space between us. My legs feel like water, my chest like stone.

The doors slam behind me, spilling me into the cool night. I suck in air like I’ve been drowning, but it doesn’t steady me. Nothing does.

Because I almost kissed him.

I almost kissed the boy I swore to destroy.

The thought loops, relentless, eating at me until I grip the railing for balance.

Noah. Remember Noah. Remember why you’re here.

But Noah’s face blurs, replaced by Jace’s stormy eyes. His voice, low and rough. If you’re going to stab me, at least look me in the eye.

I want to scream.

Instead, I drag myself back to my dorm, collapsing onto the bed. I bury my face in the pillow, willing the memory away. But the more I fight it, the clearer it becomes—the heat of his body, the closeness of his mouth, the way my whole world tilted toward him like I didn’t have a choice.

I hate myself for wanting it. I hate him for making me want it.

And still, under the hate, something else stirs. Something softer, more dangerous.

I sit up, scrubbing my hands over my face. No. This isn’t me. I don’t get distracted. I don’t get weak. I don’t fall for the enemy.

My phone buzzes on the desk. Relief surges—I need something, anything, to drag me out of this spiral.

But when I pick it up, the relief dies.

A message from an unknown number.

You’re slipping.

I freeze, staring at the words, my skin prickling.

Another buzz. Another message.

Don’t forget why you’re here.

My breath hitches. Who is this? How do they know?

I type a reply, my fingers trembling. Who is this?

No answer. Just silence.

The phone screen goes dark, reflecting my face back at me. Pale. Wide-eyed. Haunted.

Enemy in the mirror.

And the voice in my head is louder than the silence.

If I’m not careful, it won’t be revenge that ruins me.

It’ll be him.