CHAPTER THREE — FIRST CONTACT

Dante followed Aaliyah down the bustling corridor of St. Peter’s, pretending he wasn’t hyper-aware of how every set of eyes clocked him. Kids leaned against lockers, slouched across radiators, sprawled on the floor like they owned it. This wasn’t a school, it was a street corner with uniforms.

Some watched him with curiosity.
Some with suspicion.
Most with that cheeky “Who’s this guy then?” smirk that told him he’d be tested before lunch.

Aaliyah glanced over her shoulder as she walked. “Just… brace yourself. Year Ten girls can be a lot—”

Dante smirked. “Define ‘a lot.’”

A locker slammed nearby. A girl shouted across the corridor. Two boys argued over a speaker blasting drill music. Someone threw a scrunched paper ball that bounced off Dante’s shoulder.

Aaliyah sighed. “—That.”

“Cute,” Dante said calmly, brushing the paper off.

Then a shout split the corridor.

“MISS CLARKE! SHE STARTED IT!”

“No she didn’t, I saw you touch her bag, don’t lie—”

Dante didn’t need details. He moved before Aaliyah could even sigh. Two girls squared up, bags thrown aside, hands itching for hair and earrings. The crowd shifted instantly, forming that circular energy kids had mastered since the dawn of secondary school fights.

Aaliyah tried pushing through. “Girls—girls! Stop!”

But the noise swallowed her.

Dante stepped into the circle like it was muscle memory.
Like he’d broken up a hundred fights.
Like he knew this dance by heart.

He didn’t bark commands. He didn’t posture.
He just looked at them.

That old street authority — the kind you don’t learn, the kind life carves into you — rolled off him like a quiet warning.

The two girls froze mid-step.

Dante pointed at the first. “You’re angry.”

He pointed at the second. “You’re embarrassed.”

The crowd murmured. He read them too easily, too personally.
He stepped closer, voice steady.

“But neither of you want a suspension over something you’ll forget in two days. Right?”

The girls exchanged a glance.

“…Right.”

He nodded like a referee calling end of round. “Grab your bags. Go class. Today’s long already.”

No shouting.
No grabbing.
Just calm, clean authority.

The girls obeyed.

The crowd dispersed.

Aaliyah stared at him like she’d just seen a magic trick.

“How did you…?” she whispered.

Dante shrugged. “Grew up round a lot of loud cousins.”

“Those weren’t cousins,” she said softly. “Those were Year Ten.”

He grinned. “Same thing, really.”

Behind them, two teachers peered from a staffroom doorway.
One whispered.
The other rolled her eyes.

Aaliyah noticed. Dante pretended he didn’t.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway… the girl you’ll meet next is Destiny. Loud, defensive, always fighting with—”

“Oh, Destiny?” a passing student interrupted. “Nah, she won’t mess with him.”

Aaliyah blinked. “…Why not?”

The boy jerked his chin at Dante. “He looks like he bites back, miss.”

Dante snorted.
Aaliyah snorted harder.

For a moment, the tension in the hallway loosened.

Nobody else saw him come from anywhere.
He just appeared, hands tucked in his hoodie.

“That stare still works then,” LD mused. “You always had that ‘I know your whole life story in five seconds’ thing.”

Dante muttered under his breath. “Don’t start.”

Aaliyah turned. “Sorry?”

“Oh—nothing,” Dante said quickly.

LD folded his arms. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Stopping you from grabbing the taller girl by mistake. Her cousin’s in Year Eleven. Would’ve jumped you.”

Dante clenched his jaw. “I didn’t need your—”

Aaliyah’s voice cut in.
“You okay? You look like you’re… arguing with yourself.”

He straightened. “Just thinking. Lots to take in.”

Her eyes lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary.

Aaliyah paused with her hand on the handle.

“You impressed me, you know,” she said quietly. “Not many staff can walk into a fight without yelling or panicking.”

Dante scratched the back of his neck, suddenly aware she was close. “Just instincts.”

“Good instincts,” she said. Her eyes softened. “The kind this place… actually needs.”

Before anything else could pass between them, the door opened from inside.

A girl with braids popped her head out.
“Miss Clarke, are you gonna save us from the supply teacher or—”

She froze when she saw Dante.

“Oh. My bad. Didn’t know they hired security guards now.”

Aaliyah smiled sweetly. “Destiny, this is Mr. Reid. Your new English teacher.”

Dante gave her a half-smile.
Destiny folded her arms.

“…He better not be boring.”

Aaliyah laughed. “Trust me, he’s not.”

Destiny eyed him again, then stepped aside and shouted into the class:

“Yo! New teacher looks like he wrestles people for fun!”

The class cheered.

Aaliyah whispered to Dante, “Welcome to your personal hell.”

He took a slow breath.

“Hell’s familiar,” Dante said. “I’ll manage.”

But LD, leaning against the wall, frowned at him.

“Yeah, but hell remembers you too, bro,” he mumbled.

Dante ignored the shiver that crawled down his spine.

He stepped into the classroom.

The corridor felt different after the last bell — quieter, stretched, like the building was holding its breath. Dante walked slowly, one hand grazing the chipped paint of the wall as he passed. The place was empty now, the girls gone, the boys gone, teachers retreating to their hideouts with mugs of tea and half-marked papers.

But Dante stayed.

He paused by the stairwell window. Rain clung to the glass in soft streaks, distorting the playground outside into a blur of grey and muted colour. Kids had been shouting there only hours ago — a little chaos, a little life, easy to control compared to the storm brewing in his own chest.

He shut his eyes for a second.

LD’s laugh brushed past him — light, careless, young.
Dante’s eyes shot open. The hallway was empty. Of course it was empty.
Still… that laugh felt real. Too real.

He inhaled sharply and shook his head.
“Long day, bro,” he muttered to himself. “Long damn day.”

He kept walking.

Across the hall, Miss Harper stepped out of her classroom, startled when she realised he was still there.
“Oh— Dante. You’re… lingering,” she said with a half-smile, the kind teachers use when they’re low-key nosy.

“Just locking up,” he answered. “Making sure everything’s calm before tomorrow.”

She nodded, impressed.
“You handled those boys well today. Some staff could learn from your approach.”

He smirked. “Some staff need more than that.”

She laughed, nearly snorting.
“Fair enough. See you tomorrow.”

Dante watched her disappear down the hall before his attention drifted back to the empty space.

Then — faint footsteps behind him.

He turned.
Nothing there.

But the air shifted. A cold patch wrapped around the back of his neck like fingers tracing him.

“Yo… LD?” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Silence.

Dante exhaled, embarrassed.
“Get a grip,” he grumbled, rubbing his hands together before heading toward the exit.

Halfway to the doors, he slowed again.
Someone had drawn a crude stick figure on the whiteboard of an abandoned classroom.
A stick figure with a little crown.

Dante froze.

Only one person ever drew himself like that.

He stepped back, heart thudding.

Then the classroom lights flickered — once.
Twice.
Then steadied.

Dante clenched his jaw.
“Okay,” he whispered. “If you’re here… you better mean something.”

He left the building with that thought sitting heavy in his chest.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but the sky still burned with a faint orange glow over the city — a quiet warning.
A quiet beginning.

Something was coming.
Something old.
Something waiting for him to walk into the fire again.