The Prey

The classroom buzzed faintly with the teacher’s voice droning on about something I couldn’t even register. The words were background noise, swallowed up by the whirlwind in my head.

Ivan sat beside me, his presence looming, as his fingers gently traced the curve of my knuckles. His touch was soft, deceptively tender, but it burned. I wanted to pull my hand away, to create space, but every time I shifted even slightly, his grip tightened—subtle, yet still there.

I let out a shaky breath and focused on the feel of his skin against mine. It was grounding in a way that felt wrong, unnatural, but comforting at the...