We.
He said it like I’m included. Like it’s not a question.
I don’t know what to do with that either.
The day drags.
I sit through three classes without hearing a word. Take notes I won’t remember. Nod when people talk to me. The whole time, my head’s back at the house—wondering if she’s woken up, if something’s changed, if I should’ve stayed.
By the time Mark Theory comes around, I’m wound so tight my jaw aches from clenching it.
The classroom is half-full when I get there. Same circle of chairs. Same professor arranging papers on her little table. Same everything, except—
Her seat is empty.
I knew it would be. She’s unconscious on a couch across campus, surrounded by people who actually know how to take care of her. Of course she’s not here.
But it still pulls at me. Like she’s supposed to be there. Like some part of her still is.
I take my seat. The one across from where she usually sits. The one that lets me watch her without being obvious about it, except I’m pretty sure I’ve never been subtle about anything in my life.
Silas comes in two minutes before class starts.
He looks the same as always. Put together, calm, that particular brand of composure that comes from never having to doubt your place in the world. He sits down across the circle, one seat over from Nova’s empty chair, and doesn’t look at me.
I shouldn’t say anything. I know I shouldn’t. Whatever’s between us now is better left alone, left to rot in silence until we can both pretend it never existed.
But her chair is empty and he’s sitting there like nothing happened and I can still see Harrick’s face when they laughed at her running away.
“You’re lucky we found her.”
The words come out before I can stop them.
Silas looks up. Slow. That flat expression I’ve seen a thousand times, the one that means he’s calculating exactly how much you’re worth to him.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nova.” I keep my voice low. The professor hasn’t started yet but she’s watching. “You’re lucky we found her when we did.”
“Lucky.” He tilts his head. “Why? She was back where she belongs.”
My hands curl into fists on my thighs.
“She almost died.”
“Did she?” He shrugs. One shoulder, casual, like we’re discussing the weather. “She survived out there fifteen years. I figured she’d be fine.”
He pauses and it grates at me.
“Or maybe not. Either way—” Another shrug. “She’s not your problem.”
I’m out of my chair before I know I’m moving.
The punch connects with his jaw. Solid, satisfying, the kind of hit that sends a message even if it costs you everything. His head snaps to the side and for one perfect second he looks surprised.
Then the professor is shouting and someone’s grabbing my arm and Silas is just sitting there, hand on his jaw, watching me with something that looks almost like amusement.
He doesn’t swing back. Doesn’t even stand up.
