The words sank deep, colder than the air between us. I didn’t trust myself to answer, so I nodded once and stepped into the corridor.
The chilled air hit hard against my face, a sharp relief that still wasn’t enough. My heartbeat pounded against the folder pressed to my chest, the echo of his last words drumming in merciless rhythm. Control the silence. As if it were that simple, when the man who’d spoken them had already learned how to use mine as a weapon.
By the time I reached the end of the hallway, my lungs ached from holding my breath. The walls felt too close, the light too pale, the stillness too aware. I needed air, something unshaped by him, something untouched.
I pulled out my phone and texted Gwen.
Edwina:
Coffee? Before I turn into a thesis ghost.
Her reply came almost before the message finished sending.
Gwen:
Aster’s already at Grove. I’m stealing your muffin. Hurry.
So I went.
The Grove Café sat a few blocks off campus, its windows fogged from the morning chill, the scent of cinnamon and steam leaking through the cracks in the door. Inside, Gwen was easy to spot, waving from the back corner, already halfway through a drink that could’ve drowned a mortal man. Aster sat beside her, a pencil stabbed through her bun, notebook open and filled with those elegant, confident sketches that always made my handwriting look feral by comparison.
“Tell me he wasn’t awful,” Gwen said before I even sat down.
I dropped the folder beside the coffee waiting for me, the steam curling toward my face. “Define awful.”
Aster lifted her mug, studying me over the rim. “Did he breathe dramatically again?”
“He weaponized silence,” I said. “Expertly.”
“That’s his entire brand,” Gwen replied. “Silence, sharp tailoring, and the slow dismantling of joy.”
I snorted, letting the warmth of the cup settle against my palms. “He said I need discernment. And precision. As if I’m a dull blade in need of sharpening.”
“Well,” Aster drawled, “you did spill coffee on him. Maybe this is divine retribution.”
“Or,” Gwen added, unwrapping a muffin with slow, deliberate patience, “it’s the beginning of a dark academic romance. Morally gray. Forbidden tension. Brooding professor.”
I pressed a hand over my face. “Stop before I choke on my drink.”
That was when Aster’s phone lit up on the table. She glanced down, and a grin spread slowly across her face before she looked at me with too much satisfaction.
“Oh no,” she said.
“What?” I asked, halfway to a sip.
Aster tilted the screen toward me, her eyes bright with mischief. “It’s February second.”
Gwen blinked. “And?”
“It’s his birthday.”
The words landed before I could react. I stared. “Whose birthday?”
“Professor Glare himself,” Aster said, entirely too pleased. “Zayn found it buried somewhere in his file. No family listed. No close connections. Just… that.”
“Creepy,” Gwen muttered, tearing into the muffin wrapper as though it had wronged her.
I leaned back, groaning. “Wonderful. I got to be psychologically dissected by the birthday boy.”
