I feel the floor tilt beneath me. For a second, I’m not standing in this hallway. I’m back in that story he told me—the one where he first found his mother standing alone in her room, talking to ghosts no one else could see.
It was the first time he’d known something was seriously wrong with her.
Tobias was seven.
“Please, just stop,” Tobias says again. I can almost hear her voice through his, pleading with something unseen.
No.
I grip the doorframe to ground myself. My pulse beats so loud I can barely think.
He’s not her. He’s not.
But the fear claws anyway.
I push the door open gently, enough to see him. He’s by the window, shoulders tense, one hand tangled in his hair. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and his skin looks chilled. But more than that, Tobias looks… lost. Like he’s listening to something I can’t hear.
“Please,” he mutters, lip trembling. “Please, just stop.”
“Toby?” My voice comes out rough.
He startles and spins toward me. The change is instant, almost too smooth. He smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hey,” he says, blinking like he’s waking from a dream. “Didn’t hear you come in.”
I swallow hard. “You okay?”
He slants his head. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Who were you talking to?”
He blinks again, then laughs awkwardly. “Oh. That? Uh, just myself. You know, talking through some things.”
He waves it off, like it’s nothing. Like my stomach isn’t turning to ice.
Who was he pleading with… and why? Was it his ghosts? His mother’s ghost? What were they saying to him to make his face so pale?
“Sounded like more than that,” I say quietly.
Tobias sinks into the beanbag, reaching for the older laptop. “I’m just tired, Ro,” he answers too fast. “Really, it’s nothing.”
I take a slow step closer. “Tobias, come on. You sure that’s all?”
He meets my gaze finally, and for a heartbeat, I see something flicker there. Fear? Guilt? Maybe both. It’s gone just as fast, buried under a careful mask. He sucks in a breath and smiles again.
“Yeah,” he says, softer now. “I’m fine. Promise.”
He’s not lying to me. He’s lying to himself.
And that breaks me.
Everything in me is screaming that something is going on. I want to step closer, to touch him, to make whatever it is go away. But how can I? He’s treating it like it’s vapor. Here one second, gone the next. Like it’s nothing.
My heart breaks.
What if it’s really happening?
What if I’m watching my fated mate start to lose himself to the half-blood?
