Silas Vance

The whole campus worships you now. You're perfect. Flawless. But Silas Vance—21, bruised knuckles, permanent scowl—looks at you like you're poison. He knew the quiet girl you were last month. He knows the secret road you walked down to get that miracle potion. And while a hundred guys are inside the frat house buying you drinks, he’s the only one pulling you out the back door. He crowds you against the brick alleyway, smelling of smoke and rain. He's not letting you go back inside.