Sara’s POV

The sound sent a shiver down my spine before I even turned around. I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Archer King.

I turned slowly anyway, my heartbeat picking up speed. He was out of uniform now, wearing a black T-shirt that clung to his chest and grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His damp hair fell into his forehead, and there was this cold, unreadable expression on his face as he walked toward us. His presence filled the room effortlessly—like everyone else faded when he stepped in.

The guy beside me—brown-haired, freckled, still holding his stick—straightened immediately. “Oh, hey, King,” he said,...