I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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The late afternoon sun was bleeding out over the horizon, casting warm amber hues across the school grounds. Long shadows crept across the pavement like lazy ghosts, stretching from the edge of the gymnasium to the outer fences, where ivy climbed in slow, stubborn spirals. Somewhere in the distance, out past the main building, the lacrosse team was still having tryouts on the field. The sounds filtered through the courtyard in disjointed pieces—sharp whistle blows, the faint rise of cheers, and the steady, rhythmic thuds of balls ricocheting off mesh nets and turf.
Most people would've followed that noise.
Instead, I turned away from it, veering toward the old side door tucked behind the music building. It groaned faintly as I pushed it open—like it hadn't been used in a while—and led into a forgotten part of the school: an old courtyard, square and quiet, wrapped on all sides by red-brick walls weathered with time and half-hidden beneath a tangle of ivy and stubborn weeds.
It smelled like damp stone and morning dew that had overstayed its welcome. Grass poked through the cracked pavement in uneven tufts, and the place radiated a kind of stillness I hadn't realized I needed until that exact moment.
It was peaceful here. Unbothered. Out of step with the rest of the school's rhythm.
She was already there.
She sat backward on one of the wooden benches, legs stretched out, combat boots planted firmly against the opposite edge. Her elbows rested over the top rail like she had all the time in the world, and her chin tilted up toward the open patch of sky above us, eyes half-lidded like she was listening for the clouds.
She looked like she belonged here. Not in a schoolyard kind of way, but in the way wild things belong to forests, or the way secrets belong to old walls.
For a second, maybe two, I thought about backing out, pretending I'd taken a wrong turn, giving her the space she so clearly had claimed for herself. I was a stranger here anyway. No one would've noticed.
Her voice cut through the stillness, dry and flat, but not exactly unfriendly.
"You can sit if you want," she said, still not looking at me. "Just don't talk."
Something in me respected that. Not everyone wanted to fill silence with noise. I crossed the courtyard without a word and sank onto the bench opposite hers, dropping my backpack beside me with a soft thud that seemed louder than it should've been.
The silence stretched between us. Long and thin, like fabric being pulled in the breeze, light but constant. Neither of us rushed to break it. And maybe that was the point.
Eventually, her voice came again, more casual this time, like she was only half-interested.
"You're the new Lockwood kid, right?"
I tilted my head slightly, considering her tone. Not mocking. Not quite curious, either.
"No," I said, keeping my voice even. "Name's Lucas. Lucas Astratides."
That got her attention.
She finally turned her head to look at me, just a little. Her gaze was sharp and steady—not suspicious, not exactly warm, either. More like someone sizing up a stranger at a poker table. Eyes trained, taking in every detail. Her body shifted slightly on the bench, and the fading sunlight caught in the strands of her tousled brown hair, turning them almost gold at the tips.
"Well, Lucas Astratides," she said, drawing out my name like she was testing how it tasted, "you're Susan Lockwood's kid. So around here, that makes you a Lockwood."
I gave a small nod, the kind that said Yeah, I know. No use fighting it. That's what the teachers had referred to me as all day. It's what the office ladies murmured when they thought I couldn't hear. Even the lunch lady muttered it with a strange kind of reverence while slapping food on my tray. Another Lockwood?
Malia studied me a moment longer, as if waiting to see if I'd protest. I didn't.
Then, out of nowhere, she said, "You smell…"
She paused just long enough to make my brain stumble.
I blinked. Definitely hadn't seen that coming.
I raised one eyebrow, momentarily perplexed by the odd compliment. My mind scrambled to understand the sentence and figure out how to respond.
"…Thanks?" I offered, my voice more confused than anything.
She didn't smile, but her lips curled slightly in what might have been close to amusement. "You always this awkward?"
I smirked faintly, my first real expression in minutes. "You always this friendly?"
She shrugged, not a hint of apology in the gesture. "Only to people who don't annoy me."
We slipped back into silence, but this time it felt different. Less like a wall and more like a blanket—comfortable, breathable, something that didn't demand anything from either of us.
After a while, her voice came again, softer now. Not quite vulnerable, but quieter. More honest.
"I spot. People leave you alone here."
I followed her gaze upward, toward the narrow slice of open sky framed by the bricks. Thin, wispy clouds drifted lazily across it, like they had nowhere important to be.
"Yeah," I said slowly, the weight of the day beginning to lift. "I think I like it here too."
She didn't say anything to that, but I noticed the way her posture shifted—shoulders easing just a fraction, her boots tapping gently against the bench rail like some unconscious rhythm had started up inside her again.
For the very first time since arriving in Beacon Hills, this place didn't feel like a twisted maze full of questions I couldn't answer, buried threats, or stories that changed before you could catch them.
It just felt… real. And for the first time today, that was enough.