I rushed out, closing the door behind me.
Worst sister of the year.
I sank to the floor and leaned my head against the wall. My arms wrapped around my knees, as if a self-administered hug could comfort me.
The setting sun cast deep shadows over the depictions of our gods etched into the ceiling. It was getting late. My father and I had arranged to run in the woods again before dinner.
I sat there for a long time, watching the changing sunrays moving like a ticking clock through the corridor filled with childhood memories. I could picture smaller versions of Lachlan and me sprinting down the hall. Our dad had scolded us countless times for breaking or dirtying something, and Mom had high-fived us behind his back.
My phone rang in my pocket, but I ignored it, determined to remain in my gloomy thoughts.
Probably Tiziano or Makena wondering about my whereabouts; I’d shut down the mind-link with everyone, even my wolf. High walls fortified my mind.
When it rang again, I pulled it out. Stillness wrapped around me like fog as I stared at the unknown number glowing on the screen. My vision blurred at the edges.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
But this wasn’t just anyone.
“H-hello?” My voice cracked as I sniffled, eyes closing as I leaned my head back against the door again. Ian was still asleep.
“Hello there,witch!” came the overly chirpy voice that never failed to screw with my heart rate. “Hope you’ve fastened your broomseat, because my revenge is gonna?—”
He stopped when I let slip a sob.
In a voice so cautious it startled me, he asked, “A-are you crying?”
I marveled at how my body and mind eased, tension melting from my shoulders.
“Not anymore,” I whispered, running a hand over my wet cheeks. “You interrupted mycrymescene.”
I expected mockery. Some smart-ass comment.
Oddly, neither came.
“Who made you cry?” he asked, voice rough, almost…pissed? “Don’t you have, like, a brother who deals with that crap?”
The genuine concern threw me off.
“Nobody made me cry…” I trailed off, pondering what to tell this perfect stranger.
“If it’s about the flyers and the whole OnlyFans thing, fine.” He exhaled, voice only a fraction louder than the howling of the wind outside. “Don’t worry, I’ll take it off. But seriously, stop crying.”
“Not a fan of tears?”
“My worst enemy,” he grumbled.
I chuckled, craning my neck. “Let me guess, you don’t know what to do when someone cries?”
“I knowexactlywhat to do,” he said. “Run.”
I surprised myself with a laugh. “You must run a lot. I’m sure you make plenty of people cry.”
“That I do.” He perked up like a switch had flipped. “In a wereball match.”
I paused, his early comment coming back to me. “Hey, wait, what do you mean by flyers?” And did he just say OnlyFans?!
LOGAN
