Chapter Three: Tension in the Storage Room

It was raining.

The kind of rain that turns windows blurry and hearts stupid. The school was half-deserted after club periods, most kids rushing home. Sirenelle stayed back—art room cleanup duty. Her friends had bailed. Typical.

She was in the supply room alone, sorting sketch pads when she heard it.

Click.

The door.

Turned.

Locked.

Her breath hitched.

She turned.

And there he was.

Andras.

He leaned against the door casually, soaked hoodie clinging to him, eyes sharp like wet asphalt under headlights. His hair was dripping, bandage barely visible beneath the curls.

“You locked the door?” she asked.

“I didn’t want an audience.”

His voice was low. Too low.

She swallowed. “Why are you here?”

“You tell me,” he said. “Why haven’t you declined my follow request yet?”

Her mouth parted. She blinked. “You’re keeping score now?”

“No. Just watching patterns.”

He took a step closer. The room shrank. Her skin prickled. She hated how he moved like he already owned the floor beneath her feet.

“You were watching me,” he said. “After the fall. After I bled. After I smiled at you.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Liar.”

He was in front of her now. Close. Too close.

“You think I’m scared of you?” she snapped, chin lifting.

“No,” he said, voice dropping. “I think you’re scared of what you want.”

Her breath caught.

Andras leaned in, eyes flicking between hers. His hand brushed past her wrist, fingers slow, just enough to make her pulse misbehave.

“You were the storm once,” he murmured. “And now you act like glass. But I’ve been watching, Sirenelle. You’re still fire underneath.”

She didn’t step back.

“I’m not Blaine,” he whispered.

“Good,” she whispered back. “Because I’d destroy you.”

He smirked. “Try me.”

And then—

Boom.

A thunderclap outside. The lights flickered.

Their bodies didn’t move.

But their eyes were already touching.

And something inside her snapped.

“Unlock the door,” she said.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to admit it first.”

She exhaled. “Admit what?”

“That you’ve been thinking about me. The blood. The smile. The stare.”

Silence.

Then—

Her hand gripped his tie.

And she tugged.

Hard.

Their lips were inches apart now.

“I wasn’t thinking,” she said.

“I was.”

And in that charged space, lust breathing under every word, they stood— not kissing, not touching, not ready to run.

Yet.

But both of them knew.

The storm had already begun.

And then—

The lights died.

Complete blackout.

Only the rain outside and the storm between them remained.

She could feel his breath.

And in the dark, without the world watching, she didn’t pull away.

His lips grazed her jaw. Not the mouth. Not yet. Teasing. Deliberate.

She inhaled sharply.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

He smiled against her skin.

“No,” he murmured. “You hate that I know what you are underneath the cold.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she reached up, fingers tangling in his wet hair.

“Still think I’m scared?”

“No,” he said. “But you’re dangerous. And I like danger.”

Then her lips brushed his.

Soft. Barely there.

Just enough to make him lose his breath.

She pulled back instantly.

“Now unlock the door.”

He chuckled, breathless.

As he turned to unlock it, she walked past him.

“I’ll still destroy you, Cruz.”

“Promise?”

She didn’t look back.

But her smirk was audible.

“Soon.”

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