Naeva Quinn

The morning came sooner than it should. My body still ached, not from sleeplessness, but from memory. It was from the memory of those lips. Of his hands, of the heat that pressed against me.

And now I was late.

I rushed down the hallway, boots squeaking against the floor, breathing uneven and short as I stumbled into Classroom 102. My bag slid down my shoulder, it was almost falling. But I caught it too quickly.

They were already there. The five of them. Sitting like they owned ...