The harsh sound of clay scraping against stone ripped through the quiet path. The noise made the hair on the back of Elinor's neck stand up.

Her survival instinct kicked in. She snapped her head back and looked up.

On the third-floor open balcony of the Art History building, a massive terracotta planter was falling.

The dark shadow of the pot expanded over her face. Gravity pulled it down at a terrifying speed.

Elinor's brain did not have time to process the danger. Her muscles reacted first. She threw her entire body to the right, diving toward the grass.

A deafening crash exploded right next to her ear. The heavy pot slammed into the concrete walkway where she had just been standing.

The terracotta shattered into a hundred pieces. Black potting soil and jagged shards of clay exploded outward like shrapnel.

A blinding, tearing pain ripped through Elinor's left forearm.

A razor-sharp piece of clay sliced right through the fabric of her trench coat. It dug deep into her flesh.

She hit the grass hard. She gasped for air. Her right hand immediately clamped down over her left arm.

Hot, wet blood poured out of the cut. It soaked through her fingers and dripped onto the green grass. The bright red color made her stomach turn.

Elinor gritted her teeth. The pain burned like fire. She pushed herself up on her right elbow. She forced her head up to look at the third-floor balcony.

Behind the carved stone railing, a flash of blonde hair and a bright pink cardigan moved quickly. The person ducked back into the shadows and disappeared.

Elinor's eyes turned to ice. Her jaw locked. She knew that pink cardigan. It was Carrie Hutchinson.

Two students walking nearby heard the explosion. They ran over, their faces pale with shock.

A boy with black glasses saw the blood pouring down Elinor's arm. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He started dialing campus security.

"Stop," Elinor commanded. Her voice shook from the pain, but the tone was absolute.

She forced her brain to work. There were no cameras on this side of the building. There were no witnesses. She only saw a piece of clothing. Security would write it off as an accident.

She needed medical documentation first. Then she would find proof to destroy Carrie.

Elinor unzipped her bag with her bloody right hand. She pulled out a thick pack of tissues. She pressed the entire stack against the open wound.

The white paper turned dark red instantly. The students tried to grab her arms to help her up. She shoved them away. She forced herself to stand.

She walked in her heels. Every step sent a shockwave of pain up her arm, but she kept her back perfectly straight. She walked toward the Student Health Center.

Ten minutes later, Elinor pushed open the glass doors of the clinic.

The receptionist at the front desk saw her pale face and the blood dripping onto the floor. The woman slammed her hand on the emergency call button.

Registered Nurse Sharon Mills ran out from the back. She grabbed Elinor's good arm and rushed her into Treatment Room One.

Elinor sat on the exam table. The crinkly paper beneath her ripped. Cold sweat dripped down her forehead.

Sharon took a pair of medical scissors and cut the bloody sleeve off the coat. The nurse sucked in a breath. The cut was deep.

Sharon grabbed a bottle of saline. She squeezed the liquid directly into the wound. The violent stinging pain made Elinor's fingers dig into the metal edge of the bed.

"You need at least five stitches," Sharon said. She prepared a needle of local anesthetic. "You cannot use this arm for anything strenuous."

Elinor stared at the curved suture needle. Her stomach twisted. Tomorrow night was the Founder's Day Gala. She was supposed to play a piano solo. Her eyes darkened with frustration.

Nurse Sharon snipped the thick black thread with her scissors. She tied a tight knot against Elinor's skin.

Sharon grabbed a roll of thick white gauze. She wrapped it tightly around Elinor's forearm.

"Do not lift anything heavy," Sharon ordered. "Do not stretch the muscle. Keep it dry."

Elinor looked down at her arm. The thick bandage felt heavy and restrictive. She let out a slow breath. She used her right hand to pull her credit card from her wallet and paid the copay at the desk.

She walked out of the clinic. The numbness from the anesthetic was wearing off. A deep, throbbing ache pulsed in her arm with every heartbeat.

She walked straight back to the music building. She had to find Connor Bailey, the event coordinator. She had to cancel her performance for the Founder's Day Gala.

The hallways of the music building were completely empty. Everyone had run to the main quad to watch Howell's spectacle.

Elinor walked toward the administrative office. Suddenly, a massive wall of sound stopped her in her tracks.

Someone was playing the piano in Practice Room A. It was Chopin's Winter Wind. It was the exact piece she was supposed to play tomorrow night.

The notes were incredibly fast. The force behind the keys was aggressive and flawless. It was better than her own playing.

Elinor walked slowly to the heavy wooden door. She looked through the small square glass window.

A man sat at the Steinway. He wore a custom-tailored black dress shirt. His shoulders were incredibly broad.

His side profile was sharp and harsh. His jawline looked like it was cut from stone. He radiated a freezing, untouchable arrogance.

Elinor recognized him instantly. Darion Green. The ruthless and secretive Student Body President of King's State University.

Darion struck the final, thunderous chord. He froze. He felt the eyes on him. He pulled his hands off the keys.

He turned his head. His pitch-black eyes locked directly onto Elinor through the glass.

The intensity of his stare hit her chest like a physical blow. Her heart skipped a beat. She took a step backward.

Darion stood up. He walked to the door with long, heavy strides. He grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

His massive frame blocked out the light from the room. A strong scent of cedar wood and cold rain washed over her.

Darion did not look at her face. His black eyes dropped instantly to her left arm. He stared at the thick white gauze. A tiny spot of red blood had already soaked through the fabric.

His pupils contracted. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle ticked. His large hands dropped to his sides and curled into tight fists.

"What happened to your arm?" Darion asked. His voice was incredibly deep. It had a rough, dangerous edge to it.

Elinor felt intimidated by his presence. She swallowed hard.

"An accident," Elinor said quickly. "I am looking for Connor. I have to cancel my solo for tomorrow."

Darion frowned. His expression turned to stone.

"You cannot cancel the finale," Darion said coldly. "It makes the university look incompetent."

Elinor felt a spark of anger. She lifted her bandaged arm slightly.

"Do you expect me to play Chopin with one hand?" she snapped.

Darion took a step forward. He invaded her personal space. He looked down at her.

"I will play it for you," Darion commanded. "I am already scheduled to perform this exact piece for the International Chopin Piano Competition next month. The muscle memory is flawless."

Elinor froze. "That breaks protocol. We have never rehearsed the stage cues."

Darion ignored her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black iPhone. He unlocked it and shoved it toward her chest.

"Put your number in," he ordered. "I will send you the revised schedule tonight."

Elinor's brain stopped working. She took the phone with her right hand. She typed in her digits.

Darion took the phone back. He pressed call. Elinor's phone vibrated in her pocket.

Darion looked deep into her eyes. "Rest your arm," he said.

He turned around and walked down the hallway. Elinor stood frozen outside the door. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Elinor pushed open the heavy exit doors of the music building. She needed to get back to her dorm to take her stronger allergy medication. Her arm throbbed with every step.

She walked toward the main dormitories. The path forced her to walk along the edge of The Quad.

She stopped walking. A wall of students blocked the sidewalk. The sight in front of her made her stomach turn.

The massive green lawn was completely covered in red roses. They were arranged in a giant, disgusting heart shape.

Two black drones buzzed loudly in the sky, recording the entire scene.

Howell Hampton stood in the dead center of the flowers. He wore a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit. He held a large white plastic megaphone in his hand.

His fraternity brother, Griffin Wallace, stood at the edge of the grass. Griffin yelled at a group of freshmen to hold up a massive white banner that read "Forever Yours."

A strong gust of wind swept across the open space. It picked up thousands of loose red petals. It also picked up a massive, invisible cloud of rose pollen.

The wind hit Elinor's face. Even through the thick fabric of her N95 mask, the heavy, sickening smell of rose oil invaded her nose.

Her windpipe clamped shut. It felt like a pair of invisible hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed. She let out a pathetic, wheezing gasp.

Elinor bent forward. Her right hand grabbed the fabric of her shirt over her chest. Her muscles tightened, pulling on the fresh stitches in her left arm. A sharp spike of pain shot to her elbow.

She panicked. She shoved her right hand into her canvas bag. She dug past her wallet and keys. She searched for her backup EpiPen. The students around her screamed and cheered for Howell. No one looked at the girl suffocating on the edge of the concrete. Her cold fingers finally brushed against the hard plastic casing of the auto-injector. She ripped her mask down. She pulled the blue safety release cap off with her teeth. She hovered the orange tip over her right thigh, her hand trembling violently. She hesitated, knowing the massive dose of adrenaline would send her into severe tachycardia and require immediate hospitalization. She forced herself to look at the library doors just fifty feet away. She didn't trigger the needle. Instead, she gripped the EpiPen like a lifeline and forced her legs to move.

She stumbled backward, away from the wind. She pushed through the heavy glass doors of the campus library.

The freezing air conditioning hit her skin. The filtered air filled her lungs. She leaned her back against a cold marble pillar. She squeezed her eyes shut and panted.

Her phone started vibrating violently in her pocket.

She pulled it out. The screen showed fifteen missed calls. They were all from Zoe and Leighton.

She opened iMessage. Leighton sent a high-resolution photo of Howell in the flowers. The text read: He is insane! Where are you?!

Zoe sent a voice memo. Elinor held the phone to her ear. Zoe's voice was frantic. Elinor, the whole school is looking for you. The Dean is here. Are you going to see him?

Elinor stared at the screen. A cold, mocking smile twisted her lips. She typed with her right thumb.

I will say this one last time. He is waiting for Carrie Hutchinson. If you do not want me to die from anaphylactic shock, stop texting me.

She hit send. The group chat went completely dead. Thirty seconds passed. No one replied. The name "Carrie" and the word "shock" finally shut them up.

Elinor looked through the glass windows of the library. She watched Howell.

Howell looked down at his gold Rolex watch. He shifted his weight. He looked impatient and excited.

He did not care that if Elinor actually walked into that circle, the pollen would kill her in three minutes.

The absolute selfishness of the man erased the last tiny drop of pity she had left for him.

She flipped her phone to silent. She turned around. She decided to leave through the back door of the library to avoid the crowd.

As she turned, three girls wearing matching Alpha Phi sweatshirts walked through the back doors. They stopped dead in their tracks. They stared right at her.