Chapter 4

Raven

Mrs. Johnson didn't slow down. If anything, she moved faster, heels clicking against the floor with increasing urgency.

Fine. You asked for this.

I kicked my desk. Hard. It flipped up and crashed down between us, creating a perfect barrier. The metal legs screeched against the floor.

The classroom went silent.

Mrs. Johnson stopped mid-stride, her expression frozen somewhere between rage and disbelief.

"Don't come any closer," I said softly. Clearly.

She stared at me. Then at the overturned desk. Then back at me.

I could see the moment she decided to double down on whatever personal vendetta was happening here. Her face flushed red, knuckles white around the ruler.

"Raven!" Her voice rose to a shriek. "You assaulted Leo! And now you're threatening me? Are you trying to get yourself expelled? Are you actually looking for a death sentence?"

I put one foot on the overturned desk, looking down at her with the kind of calm I'd perfected over a hundred kills. "Oh, I've been dealing with death for years, Mrs. Johnson." I let the words settle like dust. "I strongly suggest you stop moving toward me."

The classroom had gone from silent to utterly frozen. Even the students who'd been laughing before seemed to sense that something had shifted. That whoever they thought they knew as Raven Martinez wasn't here anymore.

Mrs. Johnson's face cycled through several shades of purple. "You—you can't—"

She tried to climb over the desk anyway.

Wrong move.

The ruler came down in an arc aimed at my head. Textbook aggressive move, terrible execution. I caught it between two fingers, the metal stopping an inch from my skull with a sharp crack that echoed in the suddenly silent room.

A gentle twist, and the ruler was mine.

I held it steady, point aimed at Mrs. Johnson's throat. She'd frozen mid-climb, balanced awkwardly on the desk between us, all that confidence evaporating into wide-eyed shock.

"Don't. Move."

She didn't. The entire classroom held its collective breath.

Mrs. Johnson frozen on the desk. Leo backing away. Phones out, recording. Everyone waiting for me to crack.

And I felt... good?

Sixteen years of perfect kills, and I'd never felt this rush. Not from a headshot at 800 meters. Not from infiltrating a compound with twenty guards. This—this chaos, this unpredictability—this was actually fun.

I'd never had a name. Never went to school. Never had a life that wasn't planned three steps ahead.

Maybe the universe was giving me exactly what I'd asked for.

Just with worse hair and a humiliating confession tape.

"Very good," I said quietly, my voice cutting through the silence. "Everyone's finally calming down."

Mrs. Johnson made a small sound of indignation, but she was still frozen in place, eyes locked on the ruler at her throat.

"Raven." She forced the word out through gritted teeth, trying to regain some authority. "I understand you're upset about the... situation. I know your private messages were exposed to the entire school. I know everyone heard your confession broadcast over the PA system."

What?

"But attacking students and teachers isn't going to change anything!" She pressed on, desperation creeping into her voice. "You're young. You still have a future. But if you keep going down this path, your life is over. Do you understand? Over."

Leo stepped closer, his voice low and urgent in my ear. "You really don't remember?"

I glanced at him. He looked genuinely concerned, which was more than I could say for anyone else in this room.

"Last night," he continued, barely above a whisper, "you sent a private message to Tyler Anderson. You know—the quarterback? Star of the football team? The guy who's basically guaranteed a full ride to any college he wants?"

My stomach sank. I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

"You told him..." Leo's voice dropped even lower, and I could hear the secondhand embarrassment in every syllable. "You told him: 'I know I'm not good enough for you. I know I'm not pretty or popular or anything special. But I can't stop thinking about you. I'd do anything—literally anything—to make you notice me. Please, Tyler. Just give me a chance. I promise I'll be whatever you need me to be. I'll change. I'll be better. Just... please don't ignore me anymore.'"

Oh. Oh no.

"Somehow," Leo continued, his expression twisted with sympathy, "that message got leaked to the school group chat. And then—and I still don't know how this happened—someone played it over the morning announcements. Your voice. The whole school heard it."

Fuck.

Betrayed? No—worse than betrayed. Humiliated. Destroyed. The original Raven Martinez had been emotionally eviscerated, and from the looks everyone was giving me, they'd all enjoyed the show.

I caught Mrs. Johnson's eye again. She'd been watching my reaction, and now I saw something that might have been pity flicker across her face.

"Raven." Mrs. Johnson's voice shifted, almost gentle now. "I know this has been... difficult. But you need to get control of yourself before—"

"Before what?" I let the ruler drop slightly, still holding it. "Before I make things worse?"

"Before you throw away your entire future!" Her voice rose with urgency. "Do you understand what expulsion means? A disciplinary record that follows you everywhere? No college will touch you. No job will hire you. Your life—your entire life—will be over before it even starts!"

Life—The word slammed into me like a physical blow. Everything froze for a split second as realization crashed through my consciousness.

I'd left Bloodline for a new life. Risked everything—jumped out of a plane, stole the Satan's Heart, burned every bridge—all for a fresh start.

And the universe drops me... here? In the body of a humiliated teenager with hormones and high school drama and a goddamn love confession tape?

I almost laughed at the cosmic joke of it all. Almost.

But Mrs. Johnson was right about one thing—I couldn't afford to destroy this life before I even understood it. This pathetic, embarrassing, utterly normal life that I had quite literally died to obtain.

I slowly lowered the ruler, letting it clatter to the floor between us.

The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent room.

Mrs. Johnson scrambled off the desk, smoothing her skirt, trying to salvage some dignity.

"That's... that's better," she managed. "Now, if you'll just—"

The classroom door opened again.

Heavy footsteps. Confident. Male.

"Raven."

I turned toward the voice.

The guy in the doorway was exactly what you'd expect from a high school quarterback. Tall. Broad shoulders. The kind of athletic build that came from years of training and probably a decent amount of genetic luck. He wore his letterman jacket like armor, his expression set in that particular brand of entitled disdain that I'd seen on targets a hundred times before.

Tyler Anderson.

The traitor. The one who'd destroyed this girl's life.

"God!" A girl's voice from the back. "Tyler Anderson himself! This is better than reality TV!"

"I can't believe he came here!" another student whispered loudly. "This is going to be legendary!"

Tyler moved into the room with the kind of casual authority that made it clear he was used to being the center of attention. Used to being obeyed. He looked at me—at Raven—with something between disgust and disappointment.

"I rejected you," he said, like he was explaining something to a particularly slow child. "That's all that happened. I said no. Most people would take the hint and move on."

My hands clenched at my sides. This body might be weaker than I was used to, might be slower and softer, but the rage building in my chest felt exactly like the old me.

"Instead," Tyler continued, gesturing around the classroom, "you're throwing tantrums. Attacking teachers. Making a scene." He shook his head. "What are you even doing, Raven? You look pathetic."

The room waited. Everyone watching. Some with their phones out, already recording.

Tyler took a step closer, his voice dropping to something that might have been meant as concern but came out as condescension. "Just apologize to Mrs. Johnson. Stop making everything worse for yourself."