Ximena's POV
The scratching sound of my pen against paper filled the silence of my bedroom as I bent over my history assignment. Letters and dates swam together on the page, refusing to make sense. My mind had been scattered ever since lunch, ever since watching Ezekiel lose his temper with Kane, ever since that tight feeling settled in my chest and refused to leave.
The front door slammed downstairs, followed by the familiar clatter of cleats hitting our hardwood floors. Anton was back from football practice. Usually he would grab something from the kitchen and head straight to his room, but tonight his heavy footsteps climbed the stairs. Three sharp knocks echoed against my bedroom door.
"Ximena?" His voice carried through the wood, lower than usual but determined. "You in there?"
"Yeah," I answered, my muscles instantly tensing.
