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"Don't."

"Dama."

A flush creeps up his neck as he turns away, setting the mug beside the sink. "I haven't decided yet."

"Decided what?"

His eyes narrow as he flicks off the kitchen light. "Whether he's responsible for those extra credits."

I laugh. "You're impossible."

"Go to sleep, boo."

"Yeah, yeah."

He's right though, I'm exhausted. By the time we finish arguing our way through the evening routine, the lights are off, blankets pulled back, and we're climbing into our beds like this is just another night.

I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rain while Damaris's breathing evens out beside me.

Mine doesn't.

Because every time I close my eyes, Ciaran is there. My throat tightens as I remember his hand at my neck, the pressure of his thumb against my pulse, the exact moment my breath hitched and stayed there.

I turn under the blanket and try to push it away, but the worst part isn't that it happened. It's that I went still under his hand, leaning into the touch instead of pulling away when I should have.

I listen to the rain tapping against the window as I stare into the dark. I don't know which part of tonight I should be more afraid of—the trap I walked into… or the one I didn't.

13

CIARAN

We're halfway across the courtyard when Marius says something about a case study I didn't read.

"I told you to look at it," he says. "You're going to get called on one of these days."

"I'll survive."

"You say that every time."

"And I keep surviving."

He huffs a laugh, drawing the attention of a guy leaning against the conservatory wall who tracks him the moment we pass.

Marius notices. He always does. His gaze flicks over, then he lets his lashes dip just enough to suggest interest before looking away again.

The guy straightens instantly, like he's just been handed a personal invitation. Poor bastard thinks he stands a chance.

But no, that can't do. Aunt Elara's still threatening bodily harm over the Adrian situation, and Marius hasn't been allowed near a campus romance without supervision since.

"One of these days, that's going to get you killed."

Marius rolls his eyes. "Please. I know exactly how far to push."

Yeah, he plays it like it's a game, reading people, setting the line, watching who crosses it. It works. It always fucking does.

But I've got something else sitting under my skin this morning, something harder to ignore. The echo of last night is still there, the way Rowan went rigid under my hands before he stopped fighting it altogether, and for once I'm not interested in watching someone else play.

And that's a problem.