Ivy saw it too. “He’s hovering.”
“He’s not doing anything,” I said.
“That’s the menacing part.”
James looked up at that moment, like he’d felt the weight of the word. His attention locked on me—not possessive. Not territorial.
Steady.
Like if I tipped over, he’d catch me before I hit the floor.
It should have made me feel safe.
Mostly, it made me feel visible.
She speared a piece of melon and chewed like it had personally offended her. “Professor Tomlinson assigned a paper while you were gone.”
“I know.”
“Twelve pages.”
“Transformation narratives in folklore,” I recited. “Due in two weeks.”
She stared. “You memorized the prompt.”
“Habit.”
“Uh-huh.” Her gaze softened for a fraction of a second. “You were up late again.”
It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer.
Ivy set her fork down carefully. When she spoke again, her voice was lower. Controlled.
“I’m not asking for details,” she said. “I know you can’t or won’t tell me. I’m not trying to be a problem.”
Her fingers tapped once against her tray. A nervous habit she would deny if confronted.
“But I need one thing from you.”
I nodded.
“You went up that mountain because you believed someone needed help,” she said. “Not because you wanted to. Not because you’re reckless. Because you couldn’t not go.”
The room faded around the edges. Cold wind. White stone. The certainty that if I turned back, something would be lost forever.
“Yes,” I said.
Ivy exhaled, slow and relieved. “Okay,” she said. “That makes sense.”
She didn’t ask who. Didn’t ask how I’d known.
She let the impossible stay impossible.
“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, pivoting with the kind of abruptness that was either mercy or strategy. “South tower. Lila Vance is hosting.”
I grimaced. “I don’t—”
