Page 9 of The Moment I Knew

But then I thought of those dark eyes staring into mine downstairs, of the way he could pull me in with just a couple words. What if all the rumours were right? What if he actually was dangerous? Wasn’t that something I should know for sure?

I moved down the hallway before I could talk myself out of it.

The room was small, the space mostly overtaken by a bed with a dark comforter and a desk opposite it. A laptop was sitting half-open on the bed, along with a school folder with a faded logo on it that I didn’t recognize. I was ready to end my mission and turn away, until I saw the school letterhead along the front—Northern High School.

I froze.

Okay. Now we were officially past curiosity and deep into bad decision territory. I shouldn’t touch it. I shouldn’t even be looking at it. Right now was the perfect time to turn around and forget that I’d been up here at all. I still had plausible deniability. I was looking for the bathroom and got turned around.

But what if that file held all the answers?

I bit my lip and glanced out the door again, as if checking that I somehow hadn’t missed someone sitting in the living room as I’d walked by. The flat—because it was undeniably that, not a staff lounge—was still just as empty.

I took a step into the room. Then another one. And then I flicked the file open with the edge of my finger.

Transfer Student Approval.

The words jumped out at me. My eyes skimmed the rest—dates, signatures, a block of text about enrollment requirements. It didn’t say why. It didn’t explain anything.

I refolded the paper quickly, sliding it back exactly where it had been, suddenly very aware of how far I’d gone. This wasn’t proof of anything. It wasn’t evidence of a fight or juvie or whatever story had been circulating. It was just confirmation that he existed, which we all knew anyway.

I exhaled, rubbing my temples. What was I even hoping to find? A police report taped to the wall? A secret journal confessing all his crimes? Get it together, Imogen.

I turned to leave, but froze as I heard the footsteps. They were undeniably coming up the stairs and almost definitely heading for this flat, which meant I had nowhere to hide.

I backed up a step instinctively, my heel catching on the edge of the rug. I tumbled over, landing hard on my butt just as the door creaked open. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately wishing I’d gone back downstairs when I had the chance.

“Imogen,” the voice drawled. I forced myself to peek one eye open. He stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his expression unreadable in the low light. Not angry. Worse. Calm. “Care to explain what you’re doing in my apartment?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

This wasn’t me. I wasn’t the kind of girl to break into somebody’s flat. Until a couple of months ago, I wasn’t sure I’d ever even told a lie. I had no experience with how to talk myself out of trouble, and there was no amount of charm or confidence or outgoing personality that could explain how I’d escalated from spilling coffee to trespassing in less than a day.

My mind raced, searching for any justification, anything I could say that wouldn’t make me sound like a total idiot. But all I could think was: I am so, so dead.

four

I’d heard once that ‘fight or flight’ wasn’t the full phrase. There was a secret third option not mentioned: freeze.

And that was exactly what I did.

I stared up at him from the floor, my pulse roaring in my ears. He didn’t say anything, just stood in the doorway like he had all the time in the world, one shoulder braced against the frame, eyes dark and unreadable as they dragged slowly over me—my boots, my coat, my hands splayed uselessly on his rug. Not amused. Not surprised. Just… assessing.

“Well?” he said finally.

“I—” I swallowed and pushed myself upright, my back hitting the edge of his bed. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“That’s funny,” he said flatly. “Because it looks like you broke into my apartment.”

“I didn’t break in.”

“You’re in my bedroom.”

Yeah, that was pretty damning evidence, I did have to admit.

“I got lost.” My voice squeaked on the last word. Whatever composure I’d had downstairs was clearly out the window now. “Looking for the bathroom.”

His mouth curved, not into a smile, but something sharp. “It’s on the main floor. Past the stairs. Not in this room.”