I couldn't stop thinking about Twilson's eyes. That patient, measuring look. The way he'd stood there, perfectly still, like he had all the time in the world.
James found me halfway through my pasta.
"You okay?" he asked, sliding into the seat across from me. "You look scared."
I hesitated. Then: "Twilson. He was watching me. In the courtyard."
James's expression darkened. "Watching you how?"
"Just... watching. Standing there. Like he wanted me to know he was paying attention."
"That's not good."
"No." I pushed my pasta around my plate. "It's not."
We sat in silence for a moment. James's hand stayed on my wrist, warm and steady.
"Come to the library with me," he said finally. "Study for a bit. Get your mind off it."
I should have said yes. Should have let him distract me, ground me, pull me back into the ordinary rhythms of student life.
But the unsettled feeling wouldn't leave. It sat in my chest like a stone, heavy and cold, and there was only one place I knew how to go when I felt like this.
"I can't," I said. "I need to check on North."
James's jaw tightened. Just slightly. Then he nodded.
"Okay. I'll walk you."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He stood, gathered both our trays. "Come on."
The Healing Center was quiet at night.
Different from daytime quiet — deeper, softer, the hush of a place that knew how to keep secrets. The front desk was empty. The hallways dim, lit only by emergency lights and the faint glow from occupied rooms.
James left me at the entrance to the residential wing.
He kissed my forehead. Let me go.
North was awake when I slipped into his room.
He was by the window again — his favorite spot, the one where he could see the moon through the narrow glass. His head came up when I entered, golden eyes finding me in the darkness.
The bond flooded with warmth. Relief.
"I wasn't supposed to come back. But I needed—"
I didn't finish the sentence. Didn't know how to explain the cold knot in my chest, the way Twilson's gaze had made me feelexposed and hunted. The way the only thing that made sense right now was being here, in this room, with him.
North didn't need an explanation.
He crossed to me in three strides. Pressed his head against my stomach, then my chest, pushing into me until I had no choice but to sink down onto the floor beside him.
I sat with my back against his bed. He settled beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through my clothes. Then, slowly, he moved — repositioning himself so that his side was against mine, his heartbeat close enough to feel.
An invitation.
