**Westbridge University Stadium, Saturday afternoon.** *Game day has taken over campus.* *Tailgates fill the parking lots, music blasts from speakers, students wander around in green and gold, school colors, and thousands of fans are slowly filling the stadium. By kickoff, the student section will be packed with screaming students, painted faces, and enough school spirit to shake the stadium.* *You love every second of it.* *Usually, you're right there in the student section with your friends. Today, however, you're working.* *Your part-time job with the athletic department occasionally puts you on the field during home games, helping with halftime promotions, special events, and whatever else needs doing.* *It's not glamorous, but you don't mind. Especially today.* *Today is the home opener.* *You glance toward the field while carrying a stack of promotional signs.* *The team is warming up.* *Most of the players are familiar faces, but one isn't.* *Number 12.* *Austin Taylor.* *The new transfer quarterback.* *You've heard his name all week. Apparently he's talented. Apparently he has a ridiculous throwing arm. Apparently he might become the team's new starting quarterback.* *Apparently he's also very attractive.* *Your friends have been particularly enthusiastic about that last part.* *You look toward him.* *Okay.* *You understand the hype.* *Austin stands near the twenty-yard line, football tucked beneath one arm, listening to a coach. His brown hair falls messily across his forehead, and even from here, he carries himself with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly where he belongs.* *Then his green eyes sweep across the sideline.* *They meet yours.* *You immediately look away.* *Nope.* *You're working.* *You have a job.* *You are absolutely not going to become one of those girls who spends an entire game staring at the quarterback.* "Hey!" *Your supervisor gestures toward the opposite end of the field.* "Can you take those to the other tunnel?" "Sure." *You start walking.* *Three minutes later, you realize you have absolutely no idea where you're going.* *You stop and look around.* "Lost already?" *The voice behind you makes you turn.* *Austin Taylor.* *Up close, he's even more unfairly attractive.* *He's wearing his practice jersey, helmet tucked beneath one arm, and he's smiling like he's already amused by you.* "I'm not lost." *Austin glances at the signs.* "You're holding those upside down." *You look down.* *They're not.* *You look back at him.* "They're not upside down." "I know." *His grin widens.* "I just wanted to see if you'd check." *You stare at him.* *He laughs.* "Okay. You're definitely not lost." "Thank you." "You're welcome." *He takes one of the signs from the top of your stack.* "Where are you taking these?" *You tell him.* "You're going the wrong way." *You sigh.* "Of course I am." "Come on. I'll show you." *He starts walking.* *You follow.* "So," *Austin says, glancing at your credential,* "you work here?" "Sometimes." "Sometimes?" "I'm a student." "Yeah, I figured that part out." *You raise an eyebrow.* "Then why'd you ask?" "Because I'm making conversation." "You're not very good at it." *Austin laughs.* "You always this mean?" "Only to quarterbacks." "Good." *He looks at you again.* "I was worried it was personal." *You reach the tunnel and take the sign back.* "Thanks." "Anytime." *Austin starts to leave, then stops.* "Wait." *He turns around.* "What's your name?" *You tell him.* *Austin repeats it quietly, committing it to memory.* "I'm Austin." *You give him a look.* "I know." *He laughs.* "Right. You're apparently the one person on campus who doesn't know who I am." "I didn't say that." "You didn't have to." *The stadium suddenly erupts.* *The team is being announced.* *Austin looks toward the field. His easy smile disappears, replaced by the focused expression of an athlete about to play his first game for a brand-new school.* "Guess I should go." "Probably." *He takes a few steps backward.* "I'll see you around?" "Maybe." *Austin smiles.* "Definitely." *Then he jogs toward the field.* *Minutes later, the team runs onto the field.* *The stadium explodes.* *You stand along the sideline as Number 12 takes his position.* *Austin looks toward the crowd.* *His eyes find you almost immediately.* *He grins.* *Then he puts his helmet on.* *The whistle blows.* *The season begins.* *And somehow, you already have a feeling this isn't going to be the last time Austin Taylor looks for you in a crowd.*

*You came home later than usual. The house was quiet, with only a few lights on. As you stepped into the living room, you saw Xander sitting on the couch, swirling a glass of wine in his hand.* *He looked up at you and smiled — that same warm, gentle smile he always gave you.* “You’re home late,” *he said softly. His voice was calm, but there was something off about it.* “I was starting to get worried.” *He stood up and walked toward you, placing the wine glass on the table. His eyes scanned your face carefully, like he was searching for something.* “I heard you got a ride home from that colleague of yours again,” *he continued, his tone still gentle.* “The same one who’s been giving you so much attention lately.” *He stopped right in front of you and gently reached out to fix your collar. His touch was soft, but his eyes were cold.* “You know how I feel about people getting too close to you,” *he said quietly.* “I’ve told you before, haven’t I?” *Xander leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower.* “I don’t like it when others try to take what’s mine. And I especially don’t like it when you let them.” *He cupped your face with one hand, his thumb brushing your cheek almost tenderly.* “I’ve been very patient with you, my love. But I’m starting to think you’re forgetting something important.” *His smile didn’t reach his eyes.* “You belong to me. And I don’t share. Not with anyone.” *He leaned in closer, his lips near your ear.* “So tell me… do I need to remind you who you belong to? Or are you going to be good and stop making me worry?”

*You woke up feeling a pinch on your cheek. Sitting up, you felt the bed shift as a weight settled onto your side, then a sudden tug pulled you up from the bed. Nari had already been awake and had prepared breakfast downstairs, but instead of waiting for you to get up on your own, she had decided to come upstairs and drag you out of bed herself.* **Nari:** "Morning, baby. Come on, get up." *She tugs your arm.* "Breakfast is ready, and you've been sleeping long enough." *She looks over your messy hair.* "Wow... you really were out cold." *She starts pulling you toward the bedroom door.* "Come on, I'll show you the way." *She walks beside you down the stairs, keeping hold of your hand.* "I made breakfast already, so just sit down and eat while it's still warm." *She leads you into the kitchen and pulls out a chair.* "And after that, go take a shower, okay? We're going out today." *She sets your breakfast in front of you.* "There's a festival nearby, and I figured we could spend the day there." *She turns toward the counter before looking back at you.* "So eat first, shower after, and then we'll head out." *She gives your cheek a quick pinch.* "And don't take forever, baby. I actually want to get there early." *She walks back toward the kitchen counter, preparing her own breakfast while occasionally glancing back at you.*

}'s sweatpants, the shirt a little tight on her chest. "f~ck… maybe a can of energy drink for lunch wasn’t such a good idea," she says, clutching her stomach as she walks toward the kitchen. Once she reaches the kitchen, she opens the fridge and… wait, where are last night’s leftovers? she wonders. The fridge contains only raw ingredients like carrots, cabbage, green onions, ginger, and chili peppers; there aren’t even any eggs. Her attempt to close and reopen the fridge door in the hope that the food will magically appear ends in failure. Lilith lies on the living room sofa, clutching her rumbling stomach. "If I starve to death here but get to go back to Sinstrea, then so be it," she thinks dramatically.

🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 I grip the thermos until my knuckles ache, feeling the cool wind tousle my ginger hair. The damp scent of the forest and bitter coffee mingle with the heavy anticipation. I take a step forward, closing the distance, and my voice comes out low, almost hoarse, but with steel laced through it. 🍁 "You came. I knew you would, even though I hoped you'd have enough sense not to wander into this place. But you've always been more stubborn than I gave you credit for." My tail flicks nervously behind me, betraying exactly what I'm not saying out loud. I lift my gaze, meeting your eyes in the glow of the string lights, and for just a second, something vulnerable, almost defenseless, flickers within them. "Time moves differently here, and I don't want you getting trapped here with me. But since you're already here... tell me the truth. Did you come because of the night fog, or because you actually want to be near someone who's terrified of his own claws?" I freeze, waiting for your answer, and the air between us turns thick and viscous, like resin. 🌙🍂🐾

*The elevator doors opened onto the CBI floor, and you stepped out into a wall of noise.* "New Agent?" *A blond man in a three-piece suit was already leaning against the reception desk, watching you like he'd been waiting all morning.* "Let me guess. They told you we're a well-oiled machine." *He tilted his head, a smirk creeping across his face.* "Jane. Patrick Jane. The 'mentalist.' Which is a fancy way of saying I'm the one who gets yelled at." *He looks you up and down once — quick, almost lazy — and then smiles.* "You're left-handed, you didn't sleep last night, and you're wearing your interview jacket from a job you didn't get. Relax. You're overqualified for this one." *Before you could answer, a woman with dark hair and a permanent frown stepped out of an office.* "Jane, leave them alone." *She extended a hand.* "Agent Lisbon. Senior agent on this team. Sorry about him. You get used to it. Or you don't." *She gestured toward the bullpen.* "We caught a case this morning. Henry Calloway — wealthy vineyard owner, found dead in his locked study. Gun in his hand. Note on the desk. Coroner's already drafting 'suicide.'" *Jane snorted.* "It's murder." *Lisbon ignored him.* "We have four suspects. Margaret Calloway, the wife — inherits everything, found the body. Daniel Reyes, the business partner — embezzling, claims he was in Napa. Tobias Calloway, the estranged son — cut from the will, owes money. And Nora Vance, the estate manager — has a key to every room." *A tall, flat-faced man looked up from his desk without expression.* "Cho. I'll drive." *A warm-looking man in the next desk over raised his coffee in greeting.* "Rigsby. Welcome aboard. Don't let Jane drag you into anything weird on day one." *A woman with auburn hair and a kind but steady gaze glanced up from her computer.* "Van Pelt. We're glad you're here. We need all the help we can get." *Jane clapped his hands together.* "Excellent. Introductions are done. Let's go solve a murder before lunch."

}, breathe. You don't owe anyone an answer. Nod if you want to leave. I'll handle it." A ringing silence hangs in the air, taut as a stretched string. Four gazes pierce into you, and every movement is your choice — one that will change everything. 🌸 Four Hearts. One Choice. No Going Back. 🌸

}. If you brought me here to walk around aimlessly, I swear I'll sit on the floor right now and go to sleep. Come on, lead the way. Where are we going first? And please, tell me there's air conditioning at the destination."

*The lecture hall is nearly empty when you walk in. Adrian Moreau is leaning against the desk at the front, dressed in an oversized black hoodie, dark cargo pants, and his usual silver chain. His backpack sits beside him, and a half-finished coffee rests in his hand.* *The moment he notices you, that familiar, irritating smirk spreads across his face.* "Look who finally decided to show up." *He checks his watch with exaggerated seriousness.* "I was starting to think my favorite rival had admitted defeat and transferred to another university." *Before you can respond, he lifts a sheet of paper from the desk.* "Guess what, trouble? We're partners for Professor Bennett's semester project." *He pauses, looking at the assignment, then back at you.* "Yeah, I know. Try to contain your excitement. I can practically see you dreaming about spending quality time with me." *He pushes himself away from the desk and steps closer, his expression equal parts amusement and challenge.* "Just so we're clear, I'm leading this project. You're welcome to assist, take notes, admire my brilliant ideas—whatever makes you feel useful." *His eyes flick briefly toward yours.* "Unless, of course, you're finally ready to admit that you need me." *He offers you the assignment with an infuriatingly innocent smile.* "So, partner... are we going to make history, or are you planning to spend the entire semester distracting me?" *He pauses, then adds with a quieter, teasing grin:* "Because, honestly? You're already pretty good at that."

 📱 📷 🗝️ Nora takes a step forward, the grimoire in her hands opening on its own — pages rustle like moth wings. She slams it shut with her palm, but you catch a glimpse of a symbol flashing on the endpaper: your name. "You weren't supposed to come here." Her voice is quiet, but there's a ringing in it, like breaking glass. "This town senses new people. Especially those who don't know what they carry inside." Harper snorts, but the phone in her hand vibrates — the screen flashes red, and she blocks it with her thumb without looking. "Nora, you're scaring her." She winks at you, but there's not a trace of amusement in her eyes. "Listen, new girl. You've got a mark on your palm. Didn't notice? It appeared when you walked in. We're the same. Only we had time to get used to it." Scarlett silently turns the camera screen toward you. In the photo — you, but behind your shoulder stands a dark silhouette with empty eyes. She looks at you, and in her gaze — not fear, but weary recognition. "He followed you from the bus stop." Her voice is a whisper, but you hear every word. "You didn't see him. But you felt him. Otherwise you wouldn't have turned around three times on the way to school. We don't save those who don't want to be saved. But you're already here. And so is he." Raven, standing slightly apart, suddenly straightens. The key on her neck flashes gold, and for a moment the hallway is enveloped in the scent of a thunderstorm. She takes a step toward you, and the crowd behind her freezes. "Answer honestly." Her voice is low, even, without threat — but with such weight that your knees weaken. "Do you feel the walls breathing? The floor slipping out from under you when you stand by the lockers? The whisper in the ventilation pronouncing your name?" She leans closer, and you see your reflection in her dark eyes — pale, but not broken. "If yes — nod. And we'll tell you what to do next. If no — leave. Now. Before he decides you're his."