Temporal

Prologue

The final bell echoed through the halls of Saint Alden's Academy in the afternoon, right as Junot closed his textbook.

It was an ugly sound. Junot had always thought so.

It bounced off the lockers and tiled floors until it seemed to vibrate inside his skull. It was supposed to mean freedom. For most students, it did. The moment the sound faded, doors flew open and hundreds of voices flooded the corridors, shoes squeaking against polished floors as everyone hurried toward the gates.

To Junot, it mostly meant that tomorrow was already waiting for him.

Junot left his class and made his way to his locker before placing his books inside. Sighing, he slammed the door shut, and just as he did, a voice cut through the noise.

"You're coming tonight, right?"

Junot turned.

Wyatt stood beside the locker next to his, leaning casually against it as though he had been waiting there for hours rather than the thirty seconds it had taken Junot to open and shut his locker.

He looked entirely too cheerful for someone who had just survived six hours of school.

Wyatt always did.

His brown hair was neatly parted, although a few strands had fallen across his forehead during the day. There was a faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, standing out against his rosy complexion. His pale green eyes were bright with the kind of energy Junot suspected was either genetic or deeply unnatural.

His white button-down shirt was tucked neatly into his dark trousers, sleeves rolled once at the wrists. His tie had been loosened slightly, but somehow even that looked deliberate.

Junot looked down at himself.

Charcoal sweater.

Black trousers.

Black shoes.

He looked like he was attending a funeral.

"Tonight?" Junot asked.

"Yes. Tonight," Wyatt affirmed.

"I don't remember agreeing to anything," Junot retorted.

"You agreed yesterday," Wyatt continued.

"I said I'd think about it," Junot grumbled.

"Which, coming from you, is basically a yes." Wyatt smiled confidently.

Junot sighed.

The hallway had begun to thin. Students streamed past them in groups, their conversations blending into an indistinguishable hum. Through the tall windows along the eastern wall, afternoon sunlight poured across the floor in long golden rectangles. Dust floated lazily through the beams of light.

Beyond the windows, Saint Alden's grounds stretched toward the road.

The school was old enough to have acquired a personality of its own.

Its main building was three stories of pale stone, darkened in places by decades of rain. Ivy crawled up one side of the oldest wing, its green leaves climbing around the windows. The football field lay beyond the gymnasium, its grass still bright from the afternoon sun. A row of enormous oak trees bordered the far end of the property, their branches bending over the fence.

Junot could see students gathered near the front gates.

Cars were pulling away one after another.

The world was moving on.