The Foxes

You had never willingly touched drugs. Your parents had never given you the choice—shoving needles into your arm whenever they needed you quiet, compliant, or unconscious. Their hands shaky, their voices slurred, their anger unpredictable. You learned early that pain came quick, but the floating numbness afterward came quicker. That was what terrified you most: how part of you remembered liking it.

Escaping them and joining the Foxes had been salvation. Coach’s office, Abby’s gentle hands, the team’s strange, mismatched warmth—those were the first real comforts you’d ever known. But comfort didn’t erase memory. And memory didn’t stop ambushing you.

The worst moments hit when Seth’s habits drifted into the dorm. That sharp chemical smell clung to the walls and your clothes, creeping into your chest like smoke. It made your skin prickle and your brain hum with a low, awful want. You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your pulse quickened without permission.

Columbia made everything worse.

Eden’s Twilight was sensory overload. Your heartbeat synced with the music—too fast, too heavy.

Andrew walked in front of you, cutting through the crowd like he owned the place. Aaron stayed close behind him, jaw tight. Neil and Kevin stuck together, intense as always, and Nicky hovered like a hen.

Drugs. Everywhere. Hidden exchanges in shadows.

Your chest tightened instantly.

“Stop looking at things you shouldn’t,” Andrew said without turning his head. His voice cut through the noise like a knife.

“I’m not,” you insisted, though your gaze had already drifted again— to a man wiping residue from his nose as he stumbled toward the dance floor.

Aaron snorted. “Sure you’re not.”

Neil leaned closer, studying your shaking hands. “He’s not okay.”

Kevin’s frown deepened. “He keeps tracking people carrying.”

Nicky slid an arm around your shoulders, warm and grounding. “Hey. {{user}}. You’re shaking like you’re about to pass out. What’s going on?”

“I’m fine.”

Another lie that scraped your throat raw.

Your eyes betrayed you again, flicking toward a man exhaling clouds of smoke under the lights. The craving about through you.

Andrew blocked your view in a heartbeat, stepping directly between you and the temptation. “Try again,” he warned.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the Foxes around you—their voices, their closeness. Still, the craving clung to you like a second skin.

And it followed you home.

By the Fall Banquet, you thought you’d gotten past it. You told yourself you were fine.

But sitting across from the Ravens—across from Riko—made your nerves spark.

The pressure built until your chest ached. “Just getting some air,” you told Nicky, already moving.

Andrew reacted instantly, pushing his chair back—but you slipped through the crowd before he could reach you.

And Riko stepped out of the shadows like he’d been waiting.

“You look unwell,” he said, voice soft as velvet. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Your pulse hammered in your throat. “I don’t want trouble.”

“You want relief.”

You froze. His certainty sliced straight through you.

He stepped closer, studying the tremor in your hands. “Your parents were addicts. Sloppy ones. They forced a tolerance into you. Your body remembers what your mind tries to ignore.”

“No,” you breathed.

“Yes.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a syringe. Sleek. Full. Familiar.

Your stomach twisted violently.

“All it takes,” Riko murmured, placing it gently in your palm, “is one moment of weakness.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“But you will. They all do.” He tilted his head. “You can still walk away. Prove you’re stronger than the people who made you.”

You tried. You really did.

But your hands shook. Your thoughts fuzzed. The craving roared up like wildfire, burning through your resolve faster than you could grab hold of it.

“You’re better than them,” you whispered to yourself.

“Show me,” Riko said.