A harsh beam of white light sliced through the dusk, hitting Bishop's bloodied face.

"Nobody move!" a furious voice shouted.

Vice Principal Alistair Prynne marched around the corner of the shed, holding a heavy black flashlight. He was breathing heavily, his face red with anger.

Bishop reacted instantly.

He stepped sideways, using his broad shoulders to completely block Claire from Prynne's line of sight.

"Get out of here," Bishop whispered harshly over his shoulder. "Run."

Claire didn't move. She knew Prynne had been looking for an excuse to expel Bishop all year. If she ran, Bishop was finished.

Prynne stopped a few feet away. He shined the light directly into Bishop's eyes and smiled a nasty, triumphant smile.

"Fighting again, Dalton?" Prynne sneered. "I caught you red-handed. The school board is going to love this."

Bishop's jaw tightened. He stood up straighter, preparing to take the full blame. "I was just-"

A small, freezing cold hand grabbed the back of Bishop's leather jacket and pulled hard.

Claire stepped out from behind him.

She widened her eyes and let her bottom lip tremble, perfectly faking absolute terror.

Prynne's mouth dropped open. He lowered the flashlight. "Miss Hansen? What are you doing out here?"

"It was an accident, Mr. Prynne," Claire said. She forced a tear to well up in her eye. "Bishop wasn't fighting."

Bishop slowly turned his head. He stared at her, completely stunned.

Claire pointed a shaking finger at the rusted metal pipe lying in the dirt.

"I was trying to take a shortcut," Claire lied smoothly. "I tripped over that pipe. I almost fell into that pile of rusted metal."

She took a deep breath. "Bishop was walking by. He grabbed me to stop me from falling, but he lost his balance and hit his face on the brick wall."

To sell the lie, Claire carefully pulled up the left sleeve of her oversized sweater just enough to expose the inside of her wrist, deliberately keeping the fabric gathered over the telltale needle mark in the center of her vein. She exposed the edge of the massive, dark purple bruise that covered her pale skin. It was the fresh hematoma from the chemotherapy IV she had received hours ago. She silently prayed that Prynne, a privileged administrator who rarely looked closely at anything, wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a medical hematoma and a blunt-force injury.

"He saved me from getting hurt worse," Claire whispered.

Prynne stared at the ugly, dark bruise on the honor student's wrist. He looked at her pale, sickly face. He believed every word.

Prynne frowned and looked at Bishop. "Is this true, Dalton?"

Bishop's eyes were glued to the purple bruise on Claire's wrist.

His chest stopped moving. His eyes darkened with a sudden, intense emotion. He swallowed hard.

"Yeah," Bishop grunted.

Prynne sighed, clearly disappointed he couldn't expel Bishop today. "Fine. But stay out of this area, both of you."

Prynne turned and walked away, his flashlight beam bouncing off the grass.

The second Prynne was out of sight, Bishop moved.

He reached out and grabbed Claire's left wrist. His grip was tight, almost painful.

Claire gasped.

Bishop pulled her arm up, forcing her to look at the dark purple bruise.

"What the hell is this?" Bishop demanded. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. "You didn't get this from falling."

Claire's heart hammered against her ribs. She tried to yank her arm back, but his grip was like iron.

"I bruise easily," Claire said, her voice shaking slightly. "Let me go."

Bishop stepped closer. He backed her up until her shoulders hit the chain-link fence. He towered over her.

"Why did you lie for me?" he asked, his eyes searching her face for the truth.

Claire looked up into his dark, angry eyes.

"Because you're a good person," she said softly.

Bishop flinched. He looked at her like she had just slapped him.

A bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped his lips. The anger in his eyes turned into something cold and broken.

He dropped her wrist. He took a large step back, putting distance between them.

"Stay away from me, Claire," Bishop said coldly. "Don't play these games with me."

He turned and walked away into the dark, his shoulders tense and rigid.

Claire watched him go. Her legs finally gave out.

She slid down the chain-link fence and sat in the dirt, gasping for air.

She looked at the needle mark hidden in the center of the bruise. Her secret was safe for another day.

Monday morning brought a cold drizzle and the suffocating heat of the school gymnasium.

The entire student body was packed onto the wooden bleachers for the weekly morning assembly.

Claire sat in the middle row. Her skin was a terrifying shade of gray. The weekend chemotherapy session had drained every ounce of energy from her cells.

Willow sat next to her, loudly gossiping about a senior's breakup. Claire couldn't hear a word. There was a loud, high-pitched ringing in her ears.

Down on the gym floor, Vice Principal Prynne tapped the microphone.

"Before we dismiss," Prynne announced, his voice echoing loudly. "I want to address a disciplinary issue. Bishop Dalton, come down here."

The gym went dead silent. Hundreds of heads turned toward the very top corner of the bleachers.

Bishop stood up slowly. He wore a black hoodie pulled up over his head. He kept his hands in his pockets.

He walked down the wooden steps. He didn't rush. He ignored the whispers and the stares.

He reached the microphone. He didn't look at Prynne.

Bishop flicked the metal mesh of the microphone with his finger.

A horrific, piercing screech of feedback blasted through the speakers.

Students covered their ears and groaned.

"I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused," Bishop said into the mic. His voice was flat, bored, and entirely unapologetic.

Some of the football players in the front row booed. A group of girls whispered about the fading cut on his lip.

Prynne snatched the microphone away.

"This is exactly the kind of toxic behavior we will not tolerate!" Prynne yelled. "You are a cancer to this school, Dalton!"

Up in the bleachers, Claire's hands balled into tight fists.

She thought about him taking the blame in the classroom. She thought about him saving the boy in the alley. She thought about him standing in front of her to block Prynne's flashlight.

He wasn't a monster. The people cheering against him were the real monsters.

The anger flared hot in her chest. Combined with the toxic chemicals in her blood, it was too much.

A massive wave of blackness rushed into Claire's vision.

The ringing in her ears turned into a roar.

Claire slumped forward. Her body went completely limp.

Willow screamed. She grabbed Claire's shoulders to stop her from tumbling down the steep wooden bleachers.

The scream cut through the noise of the gym.

Down on the floor, Bishop had been turning to walk away.

He stopped dead. Willow's piercing scream sliced through the deafening noise of the gymnasium. Bishop's head whipped around, his dark eyes frantically scanning the massive wall of wooden bleachers. He saw the sudden commotion, a ripple of panic spreading through the middle rows, and then his gaze locked onto the center of the chaos. He finally saw Claire's lifeless body slumped against Willow.

Something feral and terrifying ignited in Bishop's eyes.

He didn't use the stairs. He vaulted off the side of the stage, landing heavily on the hardwood floor.

"Dalton! Get back here!" Prynne screamed.

Bishop ignored him. He shoved his way through the crowd of standing students. He moved with such violent purpose that people scrambled out of his way.

He took the wooden bleacher steps two at a time.

He reached Claire. He looked at her chalk-white face and the cold sweat on her forehead. His jaw locked so tight the muscle jumped.

He shoved Willow out of the way without a word.

Bishop bent down. He slid one massive arm under Claire's knees and the other behind her back.

He lifted her effortlessly against his chest.

A collective gasp echoed through the entire gymnasium. Everyone was staring.

Claire's head rolled against his shoulder. She could smell the clean scent of laundry detergent and mint tobacco on his hoodie.

She blinked her eyes open weakly. She saw the hundreds of faces staring at them.

"Put me down," Claire whispered, her voice barely audible. "Everyone is looking."

Bishop's arms tightened around her like iron bands. He looked down at her, his eyes blazing with a fierce, uncompromising heat.

"Shut up," Bishop ordered softly. "I'm taking you to the nurse."

He carried her down the steps and out the double doors, leaving the entire school in stunned silence.

The nurse's office smelled sharply of rubbing alcohol, a scent that made Claire's stomach churn violently.

She sat on the edge of the crinkly paper covering the examination bed.

The elderly school nurse approached her holding a blood pressure cuff and a small penlight.

Panic spiked in Claire's chest. If the nurse checked her vitals, she would instantly see the severe anemia and the irregular heartbeat caused by the chemo.

Claire abruptly slid off the bed and stood up.

"I'm fine," Claire said quickly, forcing a bright smile. "I just skipped breakfast. My blood sugar dropped."

Bishop was leaning against the doorframe. His arms were crossed over his chest. His dark eyes tracked her every movement.

He didn't believe a single word she was saying.

To prove her lie, Claire reached into her backpack. She pulled out a dense, chocolate protein bar.

She ripped the wrapper open and took a large bite.

The heavy, sweet taste hit her tongue. Her stomach immediately violently rejected it. She forced herself to chew and swallow, fighting the urge to gag.

The nurse sighed and handed her a small paper cup of water. "Eat a proper lunch, dear. You can go back to class."

Claire walked out into the empty hallway. Bishop pushed off the doorframe and followed her.

They walked in silence for a minute.

Suddenly, Bishop stopped. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an unopened carton of chocolate milk.

He shoved it hard against her chest.

"Drink it," Bishop ordered, his voice rough.

Claire looked at the milk, then up at his hard face. She took it without arguing.

By fourth period, the rain was pouring outside. Gym class was moved into the indoor basketball court.

Two classes were combined. The noise of squeaking sneakers and shouting boys was deafening.

Claire had a medical exemption on file. She sat alone on the bottom bleacher, reading a paperback novel.

Bishop hadn't changed into gym clothes either. He sat a few rows up and to her left, staring at his phone. But his body was angled toward her.

Out on the court, a group of football players were playing a rough half-court game.

Preston, a massive senior with a bad temper, missed a layup. The ball bounced out of bounds.

Preston cursed loudly. In a fit of rage, he kicked a heavy, stainless-steel water bottle sitting on the sideline.

The metal bottle launched into the air like a missile.

It flew straight toward the bleachers. Straight toward Claire's head.

Claire looked up from her book. The heavy metal object was flying at her face. Her brain froze. She couldn't move.

A blur of black leather lunged across her vision.

A large, calloused hand snatched the metal bottle out of the air.

The impact made a loud, hollow smack.

Bishop stood right beside her. His hand was gripping the bottle just two inches from Claire's nose.

The veins in his forearm bulged against his skin. His knuckles were bone-white.

The entire basketball court went dead silent.

Bishop slowly lowered his arm. He turned his head to look at Preston.

Bishop's eyes were completely black. He radiated a murderous, suffocating rage.

Preston swallowed hard, taking a step back. "My bad, Dalton. Foot slipped."

Bishop didn't say a word. He weighed the heavy metal bottle in his hand.

Then, he pulled his arm back and threw it.

The metal bottle smashed into the hardwood floor right between Preston's feet with a deafening crash. The heavy steel dented violently inward, buckling under the sheer force of the impact. Water exploded everywhere, soaking Preston's sneakers, and leaving a deep, white gouge scarred permanently into the polished wood.

Preston screamed and fell backward onto his ass.

Bishop walked slowly onto the court. He stood over Preston, looking down at him like he was an insect.

"If you ever throw something near her again," Bishop said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper, "I will cave your skull in."

The gym teacher ran over, blowing his whistle. "Dalton! Back off!"

Bishop let out a cold laugh. He turned his back on the teacher and walked straight to Claire.

He grabbed her backpack from the bench and slung it over his shoulder.

He looked down at her trembling hands. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second.

"Come on," Bishop said quietly. "We're leaving."

He walked out of the gym, and Claire followed him.

In the quiet hallway, Claire looked down at his hand gripping her bag. The back of his hand was already swelling, turning a dark, angry red from catching the heavy metal bottle.

"Your hand is hurt," Claire whispered.