Heat floods my face. “That’s not… I was thinking about breakfast. It was a really satisfying breakfast.”
“First-year food sucks.” She leans back in her chair, studying me. “You’re projecting lust so strongly I’m surprised the whole room isn’t combusting.”
“I am not.”
“Relax, your secret’s safe with me.” Her smile disappears as she studies me, replaced with genuine interest. “I’m just curious who has you so worked up. Oliver, right? Everyone sees how he looks at you.”
It’s impossible to miss the bitterness in her tone when she says his name.
“It’s not Oliver.” I don’t give her more than that, even though I’m pretty sure now that somethingdefinitelyhappened between Nina and Oliver during those trips his family took to visit hers growing up.
“Good to know.” She breathes out in relief. “So, it’s someone else then. Someone unexpected. Someone who has you practically glowing with satisfaction.”
Electricity hums beneath my skin, and I clench my fists under the table so hard I’m surprised my nails aren’t drawing blood from my palms. But, in good news, the technique works, and the power is forced down.
Now that my magic’s under control, I try again to project something neutral. Annoyance seems appropriate, given that Nina’s currently needling me about my sex life during class. But my traitorous mind keeps circling back to Logan’s hands, his mouth, and the way he looked up at me when I?—
“It must be nice,” she says, so quietly I almost miss it. “To have someone who makes you feel that way. Even if you have to hide it.”
The vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard. “It’s terrifying, actually,” I admit, surprised by my honesty the moment I say it.
For a moment, she looks at me—really, trulylooksat me. Like I’m someone who might understand how she’s feeling. Which is ridiculous, since this is the closed-off, tightly spun, always-logicalNina Aldridge. But I suppose there’s always far more going on inside a person’s head than they let on, especially for someone like Nina, who seems like she’s mastered control even more so than Logan.
“Hey,” I say hesitantly. “Is everything okay?”
I don’t expect her to share, but it feels like I should ask anyway.
“All good. Forget I said anything.” She blinks, and her walls slam back into place, although not before I catch a flash of something that looks like fear in her eyes.
Lydia appears beside our table in a flash. “Miss Aldridge, Miss Harrington,” she says in that glamorous French accent of hers. “Less chatting, more projecting. Oui?”
“Of course, Professor,” Nina says smoothly, her voice giving nothing away.
As Lydia’s heels click across the floor to check on other students, I glance around. Other pairs are deep in concentration. Evie’s partnered with Rebecca, both of them frowning with effort. Vera’s making her partner—poor Sam—look like he wants to cry. Elizabeth, who’s sitting across from Garrett, looks appropriately annoyed.
Curious, I return my focus to Nina. “Your turn,” I say. “Project something.”
Her eyes lock with mine, logical and cunning as she presses the pads of her fingers against each other. “Let’s see,” she contemplates aloud. “What shall I share?”
“Something to help me get through the debate in Thad’s class today?” I suggest, which earns me a rare smile from her.
Seeming to have settled on something, she closes her eyes, and the first wave hits me in the controlled manner expected from Nina. Confidence, smooth and unshakeable. It feels like expensive silk, like knowing you belong everywhere you go, like never doubting your place in the world. The sensation is so foreign to me that I bask in it, wondering if this is how Nina feels all the time.
Must be nice.
Then curiosity prickles at my skin, sharp and insistent, making me want to fidget under her scrutiny.
It doesn’t last for long. Because suddenly, something else crashes through. Guilt. Raw, nauseating guilt mixed with bone-deep fear.
The emotion hits like a sledgehammer, so intense I taste copper in my mouth. It’s thick and suffocating, the kind of guilt that comes from doing something unforgivable. And the fear... gods, the fear is primal. It’s the terror of being caught, of being discovered, of consequences too horrible to imagine.
Electricity floods through me, sparks wanting to dance across my fingers, drawn out by the adrenaline spike from Nina’s terror. But then I hear Logan’s voice in my head, steady and sure.
Let it flow through you, not from you.
The memory grounds me, and I rein the power back in, absorbing it into my body before it can force its way out.
Nina jerks back so violently her notebook falls to the floor. Her face drains of color, her amber eyes wide with shock, and she looks around as if she’s terrified that everyone in the room saw. They didn’t—they’re all caught up in completing their own exercises—and when she turns back to me, panic shines in her eyes.
