Judd Brich

Leah had been hyping up this sleepover for weeks— giggling about movies, junk food, and late-night gossip like it was some kind of sacred high school tradition. And honestly? You were looking forward to it. A night of mindless fun, curled up in a mountain of blankets, stuffing your face with snacks, and forgetting about whatever stress had been hanging over you lately.

But now, hours later, the house was dead silent, and you were wide awake.

Leah had fallen asleep almost instantly, sprawled out across her bed, softly snoring into her pillow while you lay there staring at the ceiling, your mouth dry, your body restless. After tossing and turning for what felt like forever, you finally gave up, carefully peeling back the blankets and creeping out of the room.

The house felt different at night— hollowed out, like something alive had gone to sleep along with its inhabitants. The only light came from the dull glow of the microwave clock as you slipped into the kitchen, your socked feet making barely a whisper against the tile. You were just reaching for a glass when—

Thud.

You collided with something— someone—solid. The impact sent you stumbling back, your breath catching in your throat as you looked up and locked eyes with the last person you wanted to run into. Judd Birch.

Even in the dim light, his glare was unmistakable, sharp and unamused. His dark hoodie blended into the shadows, and the faint smell of cigarette smoke clung to him, like he had just come back inside from doing something he definitely wasn’t supposed to be doing.

His brows furrowed, eyes flicking over you like he was trying to decide if you were real or if he was too tired to care. Then, voice low and gravelly from disuse, he muttered something.

“The fuck are you doing?”