I couldn’t figure out who I wanted to be.
She looked at me like she understood.
I should probably worry about that.
At least I know I’m going to see her again. Mark Theory meets twice a week.
Twice a week, sitting across from her in that circle. Twice a week, watching Silas watch her.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like any of it.
But I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me, and that’s a problem I don’t have a solution for yet.
Chapter 15
Rane
I can’t get this girl out of my head.
It’s been a week. Okay, a week and a half. And I’ve literally rearranged my entire life around her. We all have. Schedules shifted, routines rewritten, every decision filtered through where she is and is she okay and does she need something.
It’s terrifying. It’s stupid.
I love it.
She’s eating more now. Not a lot, but more. Between the five of us, we’ve figured out how to get food in front of her without making it a thing. Vaelor leaves plates where she’ll find them. Beckett keeps the fridge stocked with stuff she likes. Kyron “accidentally” orders too much when we get takeout. Locke doesn’t say anything, but he’s started making sure there’s always bread on the table because he noticed she reaches for it first.
And me? I just talk. Fill the silence so she doesn’t have to think about what she’s putting in her mouth, just does it while she’sdistracted.
It’s working. Even in the short time she’s been here, she looks better. Healthier. The shadows under her eyes aren’t as deep. Her cheeks have a little more color. She doesn’t flinch as hard when one of us moves too fast.
And she’s fucking beautiful.
I said it before, and I’ll keep saying it until she believes it. I just might not say it out loud again for a while yet.
Now if we could just keep Harrick and his lackeys away from her.
They’ve been circling. Nothing direct—not since that first morning on the path. But I see them watching. Silas especially. He’s in her Mark Theory class, and every time she comes back from it, she’s wound tight in a way that takes hours to fade.
We can’t be in that room with her. It’s the one place she’s unprotected.
I fucking hate it.
But today’s Sunday. No classes. No Harrick. Just the house and the five of us and her, and I’m going to focus on that instead of all the ways this could go wrong.
The phone arrives after breakfast.
I’m the one who ordered it. Set it up myself—our numbers saved, everything configured so she just has to turn it on. The guys gave me shit about it, but someone had to do it, and I wanted to be the one.
I wanted to be the one to give her something.
I find her in her room.
The door’s open a few inches, and I knock on the frame before pushing it wider. She’s sitting on her bed, legs crossed, a book open in her lap that she’s clearly not reading. When she looks up, something in my chest does a stupid little flip.
“Hey,” I say. “Got something for you.”
