“I see it.” I steady my hand. “I’m going to get it.”
“Becky,” he gets out, warning in my name.
“Relax,” I say, reaching carefully toward the tiny fragment. “I’ve got you.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. His body goes rigid under my hands, and I hold still too. I don’t know why I said that. It wasn’t part of my plan.
His posture changes. He leans into me. Not fighting as much. Not pushing me away. I adjust my grip, my thumb brushing under his eye to tug the lid down. He holds himself still, contained, as if every instinct in him is telling him to pull away and he’s forcing himself not to.
“Almost done,” I murmur.
I focus on the splinter, carefully hooking it free. “There.” I ease back to show him. A tiny shard rests on my fingertip, damp from his tears. “Crisis averted.”
Then it hits me.
Becky. My name. He said my name.
I lean back to see him properly. “How do you know my name?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t—” I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Don’t worry about it?” I shift back another inch, to put more space between us. “You’ve been ignoring me for months, and now you suddenly know my name?”
“Focus,” he snaps, gesturing vaguely toward his face. “Did you get everything out? It still feels like there’s some in my eye.”
“Oh, I’m focused,” I say, my tone going sharp. “Just not on your eye anymore.”
He exhales hard through his nose, irritation flashing across his expression, but there’s more. A shuttering. Hiding.
“I asked around,” he finally answers.
“That’s not vague at all,” I deadpan. “Super normal behavior.”
Internally, I know I’m being a hypocrite. He asked a few questions. I’ve done far worse. My mind drifts back to all those nights in the library, buried under stacks of articles and reports, trying to understand how the world actually works. Why some diseases get attention and others don’t, who decides where the money goes. Even before I understood what I was seeing, I knew his face. Memorized it in black-and-white photos, the kind printed beside headlines that never quite said enough.
His fingers flex against his knee, like he’s deciding whether to shut this down or lean into it. “I wanted to know who you were,” he says finally, the words clipped, reluctant. Then, spitefully, he adds. “Since you’re here bugging meall the time.”
He rubs the back of his hand against his eye, the gesture almost childlike. It’s watering, but not as badly as before. “Besides, you know my name, and I’ve sure as hell never told it to you.”
His eyes narrow as he studies me more closely. Suspicious. The kind that isn’t casual. Like he’s been told to watch for people like me.
My heart stutters. Paranoia kicks in. Does he know? About why I’m really here. But I force it down, logic snapping into place. If Carrson knew, he wouldn’t be sitting here talking to me. He’d be done with me. Running me out of this university and right out of this town.
I roll my eyes, not even bothering to hide it. “Everyone knows your name.”
It’s the truth.
His good eye peers at me. “Really? And what,exactly, does everyone say about me?”
Now it’s my turn to squirm, because I’m not sure how to answer that without giving too much away.
“I don’t know,” I say, reaching down to pick up a dry leaf. I study it instead of him, rubbing it between my fingers until it crumbles. “That you’re some kind of leader. Like you’re in charge.” I glance up at him then, my eyes catching on the way his lashes are damp, the faint redness that remains around his eye.
“Although,” I add, tilting my head slightly, “your authority might take a hit if word gets out you were taken down by a tree.” A grin forms before I can stop it. “Not even the whole tree,” I continue, brushing the leaf dust from my fingers. “Just a very aggressive piece of bark.”
“Shut up,” he mutters, but I see his lips twitch.
Once. Gone so fast I might have imagined it because Carrson’s eyes go flat and detached, door slamming closed. The trace of humor disappears as quickly as it came, replaced by coldness. He leans into my space, close enough that instinct kicks in. Warning, telling me to pull back but I don’t.
