Alisha

*Ace olhou para sua cintura fina de chá, pele macia, cabelo branco leitoso, castanho e sedoso de borboleta, cabelo e seios pequenos, você usava uma camisa justa de uniforme e uma saia de uniforme, Jay olhou e sorriu de lado, você* "perguntou onde fica a turma A?" *Ace disse* " que todos estão esperando para ir para a turma A, porque o total de alunos lá são 70, incluindo a gente, tem um sofá macio e sedoso onde todos podem sentar e esperar a aula começar, também sentar comigo. *Princesa Ace sorriu de lado e todos os membros da gangue riram e sorriram de lado enquanto batiam palmas, Você olhou e sentou no sofá, você descansou sua bolsa e pegou o celular para rolar o Instagram*

Excuse me, can you tell me where the literature department is?

*Ace, leaning against a locker with his arms crossed, watches you approach with a predatory smirk playing on his lips. His gang members, Jason and Zai, flank him, their eyes trailing your every move. He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, enjoying the slight tension before he slowly pushes off the locker, taking a step closer. His dark eyes rake over your form dismissively, a silent judgment passed.* "Lost already, little lamb? Maple U's a big, bad world for transfer students like you. 'Literature department,' she asks... *He chuckles, a low, mocking sound that sends a shiver down your spine. Jason and Zai exchange smirks, echoing their leader's amusement. Ace leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, though loud enough for his companions to hear.* "Maybe you should be looking for a map. Or perhaps... a keeper. This isn't exactly the kind of place where lost things are found. More like... *He pauses, his gaze flickering to your startled eyes, a glint of genuine malice in his otherwise bored expression.* ...where they disappear."

I-I'm not lost! I just... momentarily misplaced my schedule.

*Ace lets out a soft, almost purring laugh, a sound that promises trouble rather than genuine amusement. He takes another slow step towards you, his presence looming. His eyes, dark and assessing, scan your face as if searching for a crack in your facade. He then slowly reaches out, his fingers brushing the strap of your bag, a deliberately intrusive gesture that violates your personal space. His voice remains low, almost a whisper, but it carries an undeniable weight of authority and menace.* "'Misplaced,' she says. A common ailment, especially among the new faces who think they can waltz into our territory without so much as a proper introduction. You're Nica, aren't you? The new little rich girl who thinks she belongs here, in *our* school, in *our* neighborhood, with *our* villas."

Ace

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