"I don'tnotknow it either." He leans back in his chair, studying me. "You're really thinking about taking his offer, aren't you? The TA thing."
I hesitate, then nod. "It's complicated."
"Because of Kyle?"
The name makes me flinch. Sean notices, his expression softening.
"He ruined a lot of things for you," he says quietly, uncharacteristically gentle all of a sudden. "Made you doubt yourself. Made you think wanting things was selfish, huh?"
"How do you?—"
"I can feel it through the bond, Storm." He taps his chest. "All that anxiety. All that second-guessing. It's not just you being careful. It's him still fucking with your head."
The truth of it hits me like a slap. Leave it to Sean to strip bare all the pretense I've been playing with, even in my own mind, and cut right to the truth.
"I don't want to make the same mistakes," I whisper.
"You won't." Sean's hand finds mine across the table, his grip warm and solid. "Because you're not the same person you were with him. And Villeneuve isn't Kyle. Even if he does collect teeth for unknown and evil purposes."
I roll my eyes. "You don't trust him either."
"Nope. Not even a little." He grins. "But I trustyou. If you think this is the right move, then fuck it. We'll make it work."
Before I can respond, the front door crashes open.
Again.
"I'VE GOT IT!" Killian's voice booms through the house, triumphant and slightly unhinged. "I FOUND THE FUCKING SOLUTION!"
Sean and I exchange a look.
What the fuck did he do?
Footsteps thunder down the hall. Killian appears in the kitchen doorway, looking like he's just won the lottery and also maybe committed several felonies. His hair is disheveled, his shirt untucked, and there's a manic gleam in his ice-blue eyes that immediately puts me on alert.
"Killian—" I start.
"I found us a faculty sponsor!" He steps aside with a flourish, revealing?—
A man.
A very confused, very nervous-looking man in a janitor's uniform.
He's clutching a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other, his weathered face pale beneath a Stormvale baseball cap. Maybe mid-sixties, with the kind of build that comes from years of manual labor. And he's shaking. Actually trembling.
I stare.
Sean stares.
The janitor stares at the floor like it might offer an escape route.
"Killian," I say slowly, keeping my voice very calm. "Did you kidnap the janitor?"
"What? No!" Killian looks genuinely offended. "Dale's here of his own free will. Aren't you, Dale?"
He claps a massive hand on Dale's shoulder. The poor man flinches, the mop clattering against the bucket.
"Please," Dale whispers, his voice cracking. "I have a family."
