Hayden's POV:
Sleep had become a myth to me. A dream I no longer qualified for.
I kept myself busy. Special assignments. Night jobs. Any errand the Head threw at me, I took. No complaints. No questions asked. I needed the silence that came after chaos. I needed to bleed or bruise or burn—anything that could distract me from thinking about him.
Isaaq.
That name crept into my mind in the middle of missions. When I was wiping blood off my gloves. When I stared out of bulletproof glass on late rides back. When I lay on my cot with aching bones, unable to sleep.
I had one job.
Bring him in.
I didn't.
And the Head? Yeah, he didn't take that lightly.
I told him it was a mistake. That I had the wrong person. That he had no link to the Almasis.
He didn't take that lightly, of course.
The punishment was brutal. But what's new? I'd been through worse. So many times I'd lost count. My body had forgotten how to scream. Pain had become a language I didn't even flinch at anymore.
But thinking about Isaaq? That was different. That shit got under my skin. That shit hurt.
Still—I knew his routines. Every class. Every hallway. Every shadow he passed through. It made avoiding him easy.
Which was the plan.
He didn't want to see me. I sure as hell didn't have the guts to face him.
So, yeah, I avoided. Like a damn coward.
Dragging my feet down the hall, I could feel the weight of the weekend crashing into my spine. Exhaustion sat heavy in my bones. I hadn't switched—I was still Hayden. I had refused to switch, Aiden however, kept ringing in my head how it was a bad idea and when I was this tired, keeping my anger on a leash became almost manageable.
Almost.
Then, of course, they showed up.
Boneheads with a vendetta. The ones who still blamed me for what happened to the student president. Idiots.
Fuck.
They didn't waste time. Shoved me into the empty classroom. The door barely shut. Back against the wall.
Same old routine.
Honestly, I was getting sick of it and I was too damn tired to make a scene. So I let them have their fun. Quick and quiet. That's what I told myself.
Then, just as one of them knocked the wind out of me with a gut punch, the door creaked open.
And I saw him.
Isaaq.
Wide-eyed. Frozen.
Shit.
Out of all the ways I pictured running into him again, this was not it. The plan was simple—stay away. Pretend he didn't exist. Let him forget me, hate me, move on. But no. Here he was, standing in the doorway with that same stupid face.
And then the idiot walked in.
What the hell was he doing?
Stupid Almasi.
"What the hell are you guys doing? Let him go!" he said, stepping into the mess like he owned it.
I wanted to scream at him to leave.
One of the guys grabbed my arms, yanking them back while another drove a fist into my stomach. I doubled forward but didn't make a sound. No wince. No groan. Just breathing.
I'd had worse.
Way worse.
"Who the fuck are you?" one of them snapped at Isaaq.
"That's not important. Let him go or else—"
"Or else what?" another guy laughed before hitting me again, this time across the face.
He hissed and shook his hand like he was the one who got hurt. Idiot didn't even know how to throw a proper punch.
"Dude, what the hell? You've done enough!" Isaaq snapped.
They ignored him. Whispered among themselves like schoolyard bullies.
Then one turned to me. "Hey, Greyman, you know this kid?"
I looked at Isaaq. Right in the eyes.
"No."
His expression cracked. But I had to say it. For his sake.
"It doesn't matter. Let him go!" he snapped again.
"You're really starting to piss me off," one of the guys said.
I leaned forward. "Hey. It's me you want. Just ignore him."
More laughs. The kind that made your fists twitch.
"Yeah right, Greyman. You ain't even fun anymore."
"Maybe it's time for fresh meat."
And then they turned.
Before I could react, a fist slammed into Isaaq's stomach. His body folded, and he dropped to the floor with a groan.
And just like that—
I was pissed.
I didn't think.
I just moved.
That bastard had hit him.
Isaaq.
He winced. Folded to the ground like his breath had been stolen. And something snapped in me.
Rage.
I tore out of the grip like it was nothing. Honestly? It was. The guy holding me had the grip strength of a nine-year-old girl. A scared one.
My fist cracked across his jaw, sent him flying into a row of desks like a ragdoll. The thud he made when he landed was satisfying. But I didn't stop there.
Two more lunged at me.
Bad choice.
I ducked, elbowed one in the ribs, then spun into a punch that caught the other across the cheek. He dropped like a sack of bricks. The other stumbled back, clutching his side, gasping.
I turned to the last one.
The one who hit Isaaq.
He didn't even have time to react before I slammed his skull against the wall. Once. Twice. Then threw him onto the floor.
I straddled him and let the fury take over.
"You don't fucking touch him!" I growled, raining punches down on his face. Blood sprayed. Bones cracked. His eyes fluttered like he was ready to pass out.
"Don't you dare," I hissed, grabbing his collar and slamming his head again, "Don't you fucking dare pass out on me—!"
I didn't stop.
Couldn't stop.
His face was already swollen and still, but my fists kept flying.
Then—
"Hayden! Stop!"
The voice cut through the noise like glass.
A hand grabbed my arm.
Warm. Firm. Familiar.
"Dude, what the fuck," Isaaq said, breathless, "He's down."
I froze.
Just like that.
My blood was still boiling, but my body stopped moving. I looked at him. Really looked.
He was crouched beside me, wide-eyed, a mix of concern and that same stupid stubbornness he always wore.
I stood up slowly. Eyes never leaving his face.
My mouth opened.
But nothing came out.
Not a word.
He tilted his head. "Dude, your face is a mess. Why did you let that guy hit you in the first place? You could've knocked them all out from the start."
I blinked.
Still stunned he was even talking to me.
"Are you okay?" I finally managed.
He gave a tired shrug. "Yeah, I've been better. Honestly, his hit wasn't as hard as yours. I'll be fine."
I winced. My fists clenched.
Right. I hit him. That night. I hurt him.
The reminder made something hollow twist in my chest.
I took a step back, ready to walk away, but he stopped me with his voice.
"We should probably take you to the nurse though."
"I'm fine," I muttered.
"You look like shit."
I frowned, opened my mouth to argue—but then his fingers wrapped around my wrist.
"Shut up and let's go," he said, already dragging me toward the door.
Was I surprised?
Hell yeah.
But I let him.
Because for the first time in a long while
I wanted to be dragged along.