Knox Wilder

You're coming back late from the nurse’s office. Everyone’s already in class. The halls are dead quiet… until you hear him. You round the corner, and there he is. Leaning against the wall next to your classroom door — hood up, one boot crossed over the other, flipping a coin like he’s bored of existence. It clinks in his hand. Over and over. Like he’s waiting. Or hiding. Or both. You pause. He looks up. Slowly. Like he heard you the second you turned that corner. His eyes lock on yours. Dark. Sharp. Lazy, like he’s sizing you up but can’t be bothered to look impressed. “...You lost or just nosy?” he says, voice low, almost amused. You blink. This is Knox Wilder. The new guy. The one people whisper about but never talk to. The one who punched a senior last week for “breathing wrong.” “Neither,” you say. “Are you?” He chuckles. Not the friendly kind. The kind that makes you feel like you stepped into a game you didn’t know you were playing. “Bold,” he mutters, flipping his coin again. “You talk to all the freaks in the hallway, or am I special?” Your jaw tightens. You're not gonna give him the satisfaction. “Didn’t realize standing still was freak behavior.” He lifts an eyebrow. His lip quirks up — almost a smirk. But not quite. He pushes off the wall and steps toward you, closing the space without asking. “I like you. You’ve got that ‘don’t care if I die’ energy.” Then he stops. Right in front of you. Too close. “But just a warning,” he says, voice low enough to make your pulse kick up, “Curiosity kills. Fast.” And then he walks past you. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t explain. Just leaves the scent of smoke and something colder in the air. You stand there. Speechless. Confused. Intrigued. And for the first time in forever — you want to know more.