1. First Sight

Moving back to Camden had been Freen's idea. She told herself it was for her mom, but a small part of her knew the truth—she needed the change too. She'd miss California. The sun-drenched coast, the endless skies, the comforting predictability of its flat terrain. But Camden felt like a reset button, a way to escape everything left unsaid.

Her mom had been thrilled when offered the position of Sheriff. Freen was, too. Camden was small—just 3,000 people tucked away in the mountains—and quiet enough that she wouldn't have to worry about her mom chasing down criminals late at night. At least, that's what she told herself.

Freen hadn't lived here since she was eight, before her dad's job had taken them to California. Back then, Camden had seemed almost magical, its towering trees and mist-covered hills like something out of a storybook. She wondered if the years had dulled its charm—or if her memories had been kinder than the reality.

Rain greeted them the day they arrived, steady and unrelenting, as if welcoming them into the town's embrace. Her mom was called to the station almost immediately, leaving Freen alone to unpack. She started in the kitchen, partly out of necessity, partly because it reminded her of the late nights they'd spent cooking together.

Her mom was everything to her. Maybe more than a daughter should need her mother, but it had always been just the two of them. That bond was unshakable, forged through shared grief and survival. Freen wanted this move to work—for both their sakes.

High school, though, was another matter entirely.

The principal had reassured her that she was ahead of the curriculum, so classes wouldn't be a challenge. But that wasn't what Freen dreaded. It was the people.

She wasn't shy, but there was a vulnerability in being the new kid—an outsider walking into a world already in motion. She could feel their eyes on her the moment she walked through the school doors. In Camden, she wasn't just new; she was news.

"Freen! Right?"

The voice belonged to a lively girl with a megawatt smile. She introduced herself as Nam, the student council president, and immediately took charge, leading Freen on a whirlwind tour of the school. Nam's enthusiasm was relentless, her questions rapid-fire. Freen barely had time to process her surroundings, let alone respond.

At lunch, Nam dragged her to a table already occupied by a boy named Heng, whose shy glances at Nam spoke louder than words. Freen appreciated their warmth, even if she felt more like a novelty than a friend.

But her attention wavered when the cafeteria doors opened.

A group of students entered, their presence commanding the room. There was something unsettlingly perfect about them—sharp features, graceful movements, an air of aloofness that bordered on inhuman.

"Who are they?" Freen asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

Nam followed her gaze. "The Armstrongs."

Freen watched as a dark-haired boy in a purple scarf led the way, his steps measured and deliberate. Behind him, a lean boy with sharp, angular features walked alongside a brunette in fitted black jeans, their strides perfectly in sync. Bringing up the rear was a redhead whose beauty seemed almost unearthly.

"The one in the scarf is Billy," Nam explained. "The others are Richie, Irin, and Song."

Freen barely heard her. Her attention had shifted again as the last Armstrong walked in.

She was tall, with blonde hair that caught the light as she moved, and eyes so green they seemed to hold their own fire. For a brief moment, those eyes met Freen's. The air seemed to shift, heavy and electric, as if the room itself held its breath.

"And that," Nam continued, oblivious to Freen's reaction, "is Becky Armstrong. Senior. Resident heartbreaker."

"They're all related?" Freen asked, though her focus remained on Becky.

"Nope. Adopted."

Freen nodded absently, her chest tight. There was something about Becky, something she couldn't quite name. The way she moved, the way her gaze lingered just a second too long before turning away—it left a mark, a pull Freen couldn't ignore.

As fate would have it, Becky was in Freen's AP Biology class. When Freen walked in, the teacher directed her to the only available seat—right next to Becky.

Becky didn't look at her. She shifted in her chair, angling her body away, her jaw tight.

Freen's stomach sank. What did I do? She hadn't even spoken to Becky, and yet the girl's distaste was palpable.

When the bell rang, Becky was out the door before Freen could gather her thoughts.

Later, as Freen passed the school office, she caught Becky's voice, low and clipped, as she spoke to the secretary.

"There must be something open sixth period. Physics? Biochem?"

"I'm sorry," the secretary replied. "Every class is full. You'll have to stay in biology."

Becky's frustration was almost tangible. Her shoulders tensed, her fists clenched at her sides.

"I'll endure it," she muttered, her voice like ice.

She turned then, her green eyes locking onto Freen as if she'd known she was standing there all along. For a moment, time seemed to stretch, the weight of her gaze pressing down on Freen like a physical force.

Then Becky stormed past, her shoulder brushing Freen's.

Freen flinched at the touch, a chill radiating through her skin. It wasn't normal cold—it was sharper, deeper, like the absence of life.

Is she sick? Freen wondered, her pulse quickening. Or is it something else?

When her mom asked about her first day, Freen lied. She said it was great. That she'd made friends—Nam and Heng. She didn't mention Becky Armstrong.

But she couldn't stop thinking about her, about the icy touch and the burning green eyes. Something about Becky was different.

And Freen wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a very, very bad one.

_______________________________________

Vote * Comment * Follow for more