Shit. He knows.
“I was going to tell you. Also, there’s nothing confirming it was murder,” I snapped, my defensive instinct kicking in hard and fast.
“A lapse in your memory?” His voice was mild, almost pleasant, which somehow made it worse. “You seem to have a lot of those, do you not?” He looked pointedly at my bandaged arm to reiterate his point.
“Rowan. . .” The ink burned, as if sensing his disapproving gaze. “I don’t need your approval.”
“You never have to acquire my approval, Violet. But you also haven’t been honest with me.”
He trailed behind me as I headed towards my dorm, his footsteps matching mine on the hot concrete sidewalk. The pavement radiated heat even through the soles of my grass-stained white sneakers. Early afternoon sun slanted golden through the oak trees lining the path, their leaves casting dappled shadows that shifted and swayed. I needed to grab more clothes before my shower and lesson with Hyacinth. For whatever reason, my baby would huff and complain when I smelled like the gym.Probably due to the chemical cleaner smell. It made for extra time spent, but I rather be clean than have him buck me.
“Do not expect me to check in with you every time something happens at school,” I said.
“I believe murder is more than simplysomething.” The ghost of a smile played at his lips, smug satisfaction radiating from him like cologne.
“Fine,” I conceded through gritted teeth, my jaw aching from the tension. “I was afraid you’d overreact.”
“By overreact, do you mean follow you constantly without letting you out of my sight?”
I groaned, shoving my key in the lock harder than necessary. The metal scraped, protesting. “Yes. The thing you’re doing right now.”
We both stepped inside. The dorm room was dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon light. The air conditioning hummed, blasting cold air that raised goosebumps on my sweat-damp skin. I realized immediately that Alice was still in bed, her body shifting slightly beneath the covers—a pale green duvet pulled up to her chin. She must still be resting before her classes.
I pressed a finger to my lips, catching Rowan’s eyes. They gleamed pale in the dimness, reflecting light like an animal’s. He nodded and went silent while I gathered my shower caddy—pink plastic filled with bottles—and clean clothes from my dresser. He didn’t make a sound as he waited, but I felt his gaze tracking my movements around the room like heat on my skin.
Outside, we headed towards the communal showers. The hallway was narrow, painted institutional beige with fluorescent lights that flickered and buzzed. A group of girls spotted Rowan and dissolved into giggles, their eyes eating him alive. One whispered to another behind her hand, her voice carrying, “Oh my god, is that the guy from last night?”
I did nothing to hide my contempt, shooting them a glare sharp enough to cut. “Don’t you have homework or something?”
They scattered, still giggling, their voices fading down the hall.
“Hormones and poor taste,” I muttered.
Rowan chuckled, the sound low and amused, resonating through the air between us. “Jealous,volchok?”
“Of them? Paying attention to you? Please.” But my face felt hot, and not from the earlier exertion.
This time, my shower was quick. I scrubbed efficiently under water hot enough to turn my skin pink, washing away sweat and the smell of the gym. The shampoo was floral, and the conditioner left my hair slippery. I wanted nothing more than to get to the stables, to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of riding.
I braided my damp hair with a red ribbon before throwing on fresh clothes—riding pants and a black tank top. I found Rowan waiting exactly where I’d left him, leaning against the wall like he’d grown roots. As I slipped on my riding boots, I asked, “Still insisting on coming?”
He raised a brow, as if saying,‘You have to ask?’
I sighed and dropped my things off in my dorm room before we caught the bus to the stables. We sat in silence while Atlanta’s sprawl rolled past the windows. Strip malls and fast food restaurants, their signs bright and garish, passed us by. Traffic moved slowly, exhaust fumes shimmering in the heat. The bus smelled like diesel and old upholstery; the seats were cracked vinyl that stuck to the backs of my exposed arms.
Rowan watched the outside world with mild interest, with one leg splayed out towards me as if marking me as his. I tried not to notice how his leg brushed against mine every time the bus shifted or ran over a pothole.Why are there so many goddamn potholes in downtown?
First, Rowan turned up at Oubliette, and then he started showing up at my classes? I had a mind to call Uncle Charlie and ask him what was wrong with his deranged son, but I willed myself to be patient. Rowan claimed he was concerned for me, but I had my doubts.
At the stables, the scent hit me immediately: hay and horse and leather, underlaid with manure and wood shavings. It smelled like home in a way nothing else did. Aaron was already in the tack room, saddling his mare—a dappled gray with kind eyes and a white blaze down her face. Hyacinth stood beside them in cross-ties, mane braided in a red ribbon that matched mine, his coat gleaming chestnut in the golden early-afternoon light streaming through the barn’s open doors. He pawed the ground impatiently, his hoof striking the dirt with dull thuds.
My heart lifted at the sight of him despite Rowan’s jab from behind. “Aw, the two of you match.”
“Afternoon, Violet.” Aaron’s voice was warm, but his eyes cut to Rowan, his expression hardening with clear hostility. His jaw—square and stubbled—clenched visibly. “And who’s this?”
I steeled myself for the explanation. “Aaron, this is Rowan. He’s a friend of mine.” I paused, searching for words that wouldn’t make me sound weak. “He’s. . . concerned. After today’s headlines.”
Aaron gestured towards the front gate we’d walked through—wrought iron, painted black, with the university crest worked into the design. “Concerned or not, unauthorized persons aren’t allowed on school grounds. That’s basic, Violet. Especially after last night’s incident.”
