Simon.
Even thinking his name sends a faint ripple over my skin. I don’t know why. I barely know him. I shouldn’t want to know him at all.
Still, the memory lingers.
I’m heading down a side street near campus when I sense movement from the corner of my eye. A figure stands at the edge of the block, partially shadowed beneath the scaffolding. For a second my heart races so violently I think I might be sick.
Then he steps into the light, and I stop walking.
Simon moves toward me with a quiet confidence that feels too smooth to be accidental. His stride is measured, his coat falling neatly against his frame. His gaze fixes on me with an intensity that strips away the noise of the city. Everything narrows to him—to the line of his shoulders, the calmness in his expression, the heat that prickles across my skin.
He gives me a slight smile. Controlled. Warm on the surface, but not in the eyes.
“Eden,” he says, voice low. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
My pulse leaps. I hate how obvious it feels inside my chest.
“I didn’t expect to see you either,” I reply. My voice sounds normal, calm, collected. My hands tell a different story; I tuck them into my coat pockets to hide the tremor.
He studies me, head angled slightly to the side, like he’s reading a language only he understands. His eyes flick over my face, tracing every small shift in my expression.
“You look tired,” he says quietly.
I swallow. “Long week.”
“Stress?”
I nod once. “Something like that.”
His gaze softens. Or maybe it just changes in a way I can’t interpret. “This city does that to people.”
There’s something almost gentle in the way he says it, like he’s speaking from experience. There’s another layer beneath it—something darker, something controlled. Standing near him feels like standing at the edge of something deep. Dangerous. Unpredictable.
A few pedestrians walk around us, but it feels like they disappear the moment he steps closer. Not invading my space—just close enough that I feel the gravity of him. My breath shortens.
“You heading somewhere?” he asks.
“Bookstore,” I answer before I think. “I was… clearing my head.”
“Does it work?” His mouth lifts slightly. “The walking?”
“No,” I admit, exhaling. “Not lately.”
He nods like he expected that. Like he knows something I don’t. Like he sees more than I’ve said.
His voice drops lower. “You’re uneasy.”
It isn’t a question. He’s so sure of it that denying it feels pointless.
I shift my weight. “I’ve been… noticing things. Feeling watched.”
He watches me more closely at that, something flickering across his expression so fast I nearly miss it. Concern? Or calculation?
“Do you feel watched now?” he asks.
My pulse stutters. “Yes.” The word slips out before I can soften it.
His jaw tenses almost imperceptibly. “By me?”
