"Careful who you make enemies of, Rose. Not everyone plays fair."
I blinked at the note, lips pressed in a thin line. A threat? A warning? Or just someone trying too hard to be clever? Either way, it didn't scare me. I rolled my eyes and tucked it into the side pocket of my bag like it was a crumpled grocery list.
The final bell rang.
Students spilled out into the corridors in a flood of laughter and tired chatter. I stayed back, still scribbling on the last page of my notebook, trying to ground my thoughts in something useful.
"You're still here?"
I looked up. Danny stood at the doorway, hands in his pockets, posture loose but gaze sharp. That easy confidence of his was almost irritating—like he never had to try too hard.
"You're late," I said simply, flipping the page.
He shrugged, stepping in. "I was giving you time to finish solving world hunger or whatever it is nerds like you do after class."
I raised a brow, smirking. "Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Frazer."
That earned the faintest smile from him—just a tug at the corner of his mouth.
"Library?" he asked.
"Let's go."
---
The library smelled like old paper and ambition. Golden sunlight slipped through tall windows and settled over the dusty spines of untouched encyclopedias. We found a quiet corner, far from the world.
Danny dropped his bag, pulled out a notepad, and opened it with surgical precision. "So, Maxton Meet. It's centered around global economic and social transitions. We need a solid angle."
I tapped my pen against the table. "How about Shifting Worlds with a subtitle? Something like 'Youth in Transition'?"
He glanced up, thoughtful. "Could work. A little idealistic, but that's what sells."
I leaned back. "Would've thought you'd be the cynic in the room."
He gave a low hum. "Oh, I am. I just know how to sound like an optimist when needed."
We began dividing the work. Danny suggested we each take part of the research and writing.
"You do the case studies. I'll handle the intro and flow," he said.
"I'd rather write the arguments. You take the statistics," I countered.
He gave a small nod. "Fair. Poster?"
"Not my thing."
"Coloring?" he offered.
I chuckled. "That I can manage."
"Cool. Then we're set. We'll rotate work days—Monday for structure, Tuesday for drafting, Wednesday for design."
There was a pause, then his eyes flicked to me again. "You're surprisingly efficient for someone who looks like she'd alphabetize her bookshelf for fun."
I shot him a dry look. "I have. Twice."
He laughed under his breath. "Of course you have, nerd."
The word didn't sting. Not from him. Especially not when his voice dipped slightly like it was more nickname than insult.
We packed up just as the last light spilled across the floor. I reached into my bag—and paused. My fingers brushed against the edge of that folded note.
Danny's eyes caught the movement. "Something wrong?"
I hesitated. "Just clutter."
Before I could push it deeper into my bag, he moved. Swiftly, smoothly. He leaned down, one hand resting on the edge of my waist as he balanced, his other hand reaching right past me.
My breath caught, more from surprise than the proximity. He pulled the note free with infuriating ease—tall advantage in full play.
"Seriously?" I muttered, but he was already reading.
His expression was unreadable for a long second. Then he looked at me.
"This doesn't sound like clutter, Rose," he said, voice softer now, steady.
I shifted awkwardly. "It's nothing."
He folded the note neatly again and pressed it back into my hand.
"Keep it," he said. "Not because it's important, but because sometimes it's good to know who's watching and what they think they know about you."
I blinked.
He added, "Don't overthink it. You've got a louder mind than most, but that's not a bad thing."
Then, as if he hadn't just unsettled something in me, he slung his bag over one shoulder and walked off, leaving a strange calm in his wake—and a note that suddenly felt like more than just ink on paper.