“I’m River,” he offers, brushing a hand through his hair. “We’re in Advanced Lit. together. I sit two rows back.”
Right. The guy who actually takes notes. I give a half nod. “Okay.”
He glances around, shuffling his feet. “I was wondering—um, there’s this little café in town, they’ve got open mic nights and live music and all that. I thought maybe… would you wanna go sometime? With me?”
For a moment, the world tips sideways.
Not because he asked, but because of the four annoying assholes eavesdropping. Four distinct reactions hit me at once.
Jace. Still as a statue, like he’s already decided this guy’s beneath him. Tex. Crossed arms, unreadable. But he looks ready to take someone out. Maybe River. Noah. Raised eyebrows and that twitchy analytical look, like he wants to pull out a whiteboard and diagram what’s happening. And Luca… smiling like he already knows how this ends, even if I don’t.
I could say no. That would be the easy way out. Keep the waters calm. Don’t poke the wolves.
But where’s the fun in that?
I shift my stance and let my lips curve into a small smile. “Sure,” I say. “I’d like that.”
River grins. “Awesome. I’ll message you?”
“Looking forward to it.”
He waves awkwardly before heading off, probably rehearsing a victory dance the second he’s out of sight.
Jace looks like he could snap someone in half.
Tex isn’t moving, but his eyes burn.
I turn and keep walking, smiling smugly to myself.
I’min the common lounge off the east hall, pretending to scroll through my tablet while I wait for Dakota. The space is mostly quiet — sun spilling across the marble in lazy gold stripes, a few voices murmuring from a table tucked in the corner. My hair’s down again today, waves loose around my face, and I’ve finally gotten used to the new weight of peoplelooking.
Which is why I don’t jump when I feel someone slide into the seat across from me. Luca has a presence that’s hard to miss. That faint smell of cedarand spice, the hint of smug confidence that walks into the room three seconds before he does.
“Isobel,” he drawls, like we’re old friends with shared secrets. Maybe we are, now.
“Luca.” I don’t look up right away, but I let him hear the edge in my voice. “Slumming it in the commoners’ lounge?”
His laugh is a soft, rich sound. “Can’t a guy seek out the woman who dragged him back from death’s doorstep?”
I glance up at him. “You weren’t dying.”
“I was bleeding out on a speeding truck with prototype weapons strapped to my back,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “Pretty sure that qualifies.”
I snort, but the image flashes too clearly — him on the roof of that transport, the way his body buckled, my hands slick with his blood while I put pressure on his shoulder in the van, how his body slumped when he passed out.
He smiles when I don’t answer, something quieter in his eyes now. “You know, you didn’t have to save me.”
“I know,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
“But you did.”
I shrug, throat tight. “Don’t read into it. I’m never in the mood to watch anyone die.”
His gaze sharpens. “You were shaking.”
I look away, jaw clenching. “So were you.”
He chuckles again, this time a little softer. “Touché.”
