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The last thing I was in the mood for was to talk to him about my problems. Besides, they were none of his business, and he wouldn't be able to help me anyway. I was stuck. J was the only person who could change that.

“You should find her and confess your love to her. Believe me. That would solve half your problems.”

A bitter smile crossed my lips.

My gaze fell on Miles' black moonstone necklace, which had fallen out of his shirt. It was a stone that every Transformed had to wear, and which every Legacy Ruisangor wore as a precaution so that they could use their powers outside of UV-protected rooms without frying in the sun.

Whatever it was that the Legacies accessed when they used their powers or transformed humans into Ruisangors, once it was depleted, the sun had a toxic effect on them.

I had researched it extensively and had come to the conclusion that it functioned as a kind of sunscreen and, at the same time, as a source of energy for their existence, and that it was produced in greater quantities as soon as a Ruisangor consumed fresh blood, preferably when they were in the throes of hunting fever.

The black moonstone only worked on direct skin contact – however, most reliably when in direct contact with the bloodstream – and was essential for the transformed. Probably because their bodies didn't produce this substance as soon as they drank blood, at least not in the quantities that Legacies did.

If I had enough time and weren't already juggling countless side projects, I would do more research on the black moonstone, especially now that I had access not only to blood from Transformed but also to that of two Legacies...

“Although, now that I think about it,” Miles continued, walking on and spinning around his own axis energetically. A clear case of ADHD.

Miles looked intently at me, his grin growing wider.

Was someone paying him to be so annoying?

“What?” I asked, making a circular hand gesture. “What are you trying to say?”

His grin turned into a smirk before he pressed his lips together and immediately turned back to my shelves.

“Forget about it.”

Was he serious? What was he still doing here anyway?

“How about you just text her?”

I was about to laugh, but instead I ran my free hand through my hair.

“You have to start over.”

I took a much too large sip of whiskey and immediately regretted it. I really should switch brands. This was Canadian poison.

“You said you were friends?”

It wasn't working. No matter how much I tried to distract myself from Miles' words, he stirred up images and emotions in me that I didn't even know I wanted to get rid of.

“Pick up right there. Try to save the friendship. And then get your bride.”

“J,” I replied in exhaustion, and as always, the sound of her name felt liberating. “Her name is J.”

“Of course, Quentin. And I'm The Eye.”

I couldn't stand hearing that name anymore. My lectures had already been canceled five times because of this rebellious snob. Lectures I had worked through the night to prepare. I had planned to digitize them, but now this delusional Quatura director had banned PowerPoint presentations.

I should have been happy that someone was taking action against the Quatura, even if it was probably unintentional, but this guy was a pain in the ass.

“Do you know who's behind this crap?”

I was lucky that I had parked my car downtown that day and had just finished my weekly grocery shopping. Otherwise, some crazy students would have thrown themselves on my engine hood too.

“No, but I like the guy,” Miles explained. “He brings excitement to campus. And did you see how much Harlow is struggling?”

“That woman can go to hell,” I hissed.