"Oh," she says, looking between us. "Hi, Nico."
"Hi." He's composed already, hands in his pockets like he wasn't just on top of me twenty seconds ago. "I should go."
He looks at me and something passes between us, something heated and unfinished.
"Thanks for opening up to me," he says. "It means a lot that you trust me."
Then he's gone and I'm left sitting on my bed with my heart racing and Lily staring at me with wide eyes.
"What was that?" she asks.
"I don't know," I say, and it's the truth.
The next morning at breakfast he sits with us again.
This time it feels natural, like he belongs there, and when he reaches across the table to steal a piece of my toast I let him. Lily watches us with poorly concealed amusement and I try not to think about his hands on my body last night or the way his mouth felt on mine.
After breakfast he walks me to Shifter Biology and before we part he catches my hand.
"See you at lunch?" he asks.
"Yeah."
He squeezes my hand once and lets go and I watch him walk away before heading into class.
The day passes in a blur. Lunch with Nico and Lily where we argue about whether the Council's resource allocation policies are sustainable. An afternoon in the library where he finds me again and we sit in comfortable silence. Dinner where he tells a story about his younger sister that makes Lily laugh so hard she nearly chokes on her water.
By the time I go to bed that night, the hollow ache in my chest has faded to something smaller, something manageable. For the first time since I arrived at Everpine, I don't feel entirely alone.
The note arrives the following evening.
I find it slipped under my door when I come back from dinner, a folded piece of paper with my name written on the outside in Nico's handwriting.
I found something. Proof of what the Dominion has been doing, proper documentation, names and dates and records. You need to see this. East Wing common room, tonight. 8 PM.
Trust me.
I read it twice. The wording is different from how he usually talks, tighter, more urgent. But I've watched him argue with Eddie Thorne for me. I've felt his hands on my body and his mouth on mine and how he looked at me when I told him about my aunt.
I fold the note and put it in my pocket.
At eight PM I walk to the east wing.
The common room has double doors and I push through them and I'm inside before I have time to register what I'm seeing.
The room is full.
Not a study group. Not a gathering. Full. Thirty or forty students on sofas and chairs and leaning against walls, and the large screen on the far wall is running.
My stomach drops.
The screen shows our conversations. All of them.
The stairwell, the first night.Broke down, crying alone. Desperate for contact. Easy entry point.
The library sessions, catalogued by date and subject.Revealed research into parents' death. Building trust. Defensive walls lowering.
The clearing in the rain.Subject initiated physical contact. Kiss confirmed. Emotional attachment forming.
