CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LARA

The weeks that followed felt like a strange, wonderful blur. Hades and I had somehow carved out this unspoken bond between us, one that grew stronger with each passing day. We didn’t define it, didn’t need to. It was just there—a connection that felt raw and real in a way I hadn’t expected.

Every morning, I’d see him leaning against the gate of the school, hands in his pockets, that signature guarded expression on his face. And every morning, my chest would tighten at the sight of him. We’d spend our free periods together, talking about nothing and everything, and the walls he had so carefully built around himself seemed to crumble just a little more each time.

But then there were the bruises. The faint discoloration along his jaw, the swelling on his knuckles, the black eye he couldn’t quite hide under his hood. He never said anything about them, and I didn’t ask, but they didn’t go unnoticed. Every time I saw a new mark, a fresh reminder of whatever he was going through, my stomach twisted.

I started carrying a small tube of arnica gel in my bag—not that he ever asked for it, but I couldn’t just do nothing. “Here,” I’d say, handing it to him casually, as if I wasn’t screaming inside. “For the black eye. It’ll help.”

He’d take it with a small grunt of thanks, his eyes flicking away from mine like he didn’t want me to see too much. But I could tell he appreciated it, even if he didn’t say it.

Gianna, of course, had noticed the shift in our dynamic almost immediately. “So,” she’d said one afternoon, leaning against my locker with that knowing smirk of hers. “You and Mr. Brooding Bad Boy seem pretty cozy these days.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the warmth creeping into my cheeks. “We’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, her tone dripping with disbelief. “And I’m a world-class gymnast.”

“You did take gymnastics in third grade,” I pointed out, trying to deflect.

She snorted. “Don’t change the subject. Anyway, speaking of interesting developments…” She waggled her eyebrows and tilted her head toward Marcus, who was standing across the hall, his usual aloof expression in place.

“You and Marcus?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Since when?”

She shrugged, but I could see the faint smile tugging at her lips. “He’s...different. Quiet, but not in a bad way. And he’s funny when he actually talks.”

I glanced over at Marcus again, watching as he leaned against the wall, scrolling through his phone like he couldn’t care less about anything going on around him. But then, Gianna caught his eye, and for a split second, his detached demeanor cracked. His lips twitched into the smallest of smiles before he looked away.

“Oh my God,” I said, turning back to her. “You like him.”

“I don’t not like him,” she said, her grin widening. “He’s...interesting.”

“Interesting,” I repeated, laughing. “That’s one way to put it.”

Later that day, I found myself sitting with Hades on one of the stone benches in the garden. It had become our unofficial spot—somewhere quiet, away from the noise of the school. He was leaning back, his hood pulled low over his face, while I sat beside him, trying to focus on the book in my lap.

But my eyes kept drifting to the fresh bruise on his cheekbone, dark and angry against his pale skin. I bit my lip, debating whether to bring it up. He had let me in more than I ever thought he would, but there were still so many walls, so many pieces of him he kept hidden.

“Do you ever—” I started, then stopped myself, unsure how to phrase it.

His gaze shifted to me, one eyebrow raising slightly. “Do I ever what?”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “Never mind.”

He didn’t press me, but I could feel his eyes on me, studying me like he was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying.

The truth was, I wanted to ask. I wanted to know why he came to school with bruises, why he always looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But I was scared. Scared he’d shut me out if I pushed too hard. Scared of what the answer might be.

So instead, I stayed quiet, letting the silence settle between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. With Hades, even the silence felt meaningful.

But as I sat there, the questions lingered in my mind, refusing to let go. And I knew it was only a matter of time before I couldn’t hold them back anymore.

Later that night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my thoughts were consumed by him. Hades. The way he seemed to carry so much pain without ever saying a word, the way his presence made everything around him feel heavier and more real. I didn’t know why I cared so much, why I felt this need to protect him, to understand him. But I did. And it scared me, because the more time I spent with him, the more I realized I didn’t just want to know his story—I wanted to be a part of it.