MY PSYCHO ALPHA

CHAPTER 7

I didn’t dream.

Or maybe I did, but my brain refused to replay it for me out of mercy.

All I knew was that I woke up with my heart still tense like I’d been running, and the image of Alex’s eyes—glowing gold for one second—still burned behind my eyelids.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening.

The suite was quiet.

Too quiet.

No footsteps in the common room. No soft movement outside my door. No voice, low and calm, telling me to lock things like my life depended on it.

I hated that the silence made me miss the noise.

I hated more that it made me wonder where he was.

I rolled over, grabbed my phone, and checked the time.

Too early.

Of course.

I stared at the lock on my bedroom door, then at the doorknob, like it might suddenly start turning by itself.

It didn’t.

I told myself, for the thousandth time, that Alex hadn’t threatened me.

He’d protected me.

He’d caught me.

He’d kept distance when I told him to.

But then my brain replayed the way his hand shook—like he was holding back something violent and hungry—and my stomach tightened again.

A person should not have to hold themselves together like that.

A person should not have to fight their own instincts.

A person should not have eyes that glow.

Unless they were—

I cut that thought off so fast it almost gave me whiplash.

No.

Nope.

Not doing that.

I sat up, dragged myself out of bed, and got dressed like I was putting on armor. Comfortable clothes. Hoodie. Sneakers. Hair tied up like I was going to war with academia.

My schedule said I had a gap before my first real class meeting, which meant I had exactly one option:

Escape to the library.

The library was the safest place on any campus, because libraries were full of rules, judgment, and books that could crush you if you tried anything stupid. Even creepy guys acted better around the threat of public shaming and librarians.

Also: quiet.

My favorite survival feature.

I grabbed my bag and cracked my door open.

The common room was empty.

Alex’s door was shut.

His shoes were still lined up like he’d trained them.

The couch looked untouched.

No storm smell.

No rain-metal bite in the air.

For a moment, my chest loosened.

Good.

He wasn’t here.

Which meant I could breathe like a normal person again.

I stepped out quietly, locked the suite door behind me, and moved down the hallway like I was sneaking out of a haunted house.

Outside, morning had that crisp, early brightness that made campus look innocent. Students walked in sleepy groups, clutching coffee like they were emotionally attached to it. Someone jogged past with earbuds in, face determined like they were running away from their own thoughts.

I understood them.

The library sat in the center of campus like a giant, serious rectangle—glass and stone and silence. It looked like a place where secrets couldn’t follow you.

Which was probably a lie, but I needed it anyway.

I pushed through the doors and immediately felt my shoulders drop.

It smelled like paper, dust, and air-conditioning. Like time itself had been filtered.

There was a front desk with a student worker who looked half-asleep. A sign behind them read:

WELCOME! QUIET ZONES BEGIN BEYOND THIS POINT.

Finally. A rule I could love.

I walked deeper inside, past rows of shelves, past study cubicles, past students hunched over laptops like they were trying to prove they deserved to exist.

The deeper you went, the quieter it got.

I found a table in the back corner on the second floor, near a tall window that looked out onto the quad. The sunlight there was soft, almost warm, without being dramatic.

I claimed the chair like it was territory and dropped my bag down with satisfaction.

Then I pulled out my notebook, opened my laptop, and started pretending my life was normal.

Schedule. Notes. Syllabi. Deadlines.

Normal problems.

Normal stress.

Not “my suite-mate might be a storm creature who calls me Sparrow.”

I was halfway through writing down my first week’s assignments when my phone buzzed.

Lina: MORNING. DID U SURVIVELina: also bree says your “mystery hot guy” looked like he wanted to commit homicide last nightLina: i’m going to club fair again later. meet for lunch???

I typed back:

Me: alive.Me: he is not “my mystery hot guy.”Me: i’m at the library. studying.

Three dots appeared.

Lina: STUDYING??? WHO ARE U AND WHAT DID U DO WITH MY FRIENDLina: library is safe tho. good choice.Lina: if wolf-boy shows up, text me so i can witness romance

I stared at the message.

Then stared at the word wolf-boy.

Then stared at the quiet library like it could defend me from Lina’s imagination.

I set my phone face down and focused harder.

Notes.

Assignments.

Normal.

I was doing okay.

I really was.

For about twenty minutes.

Then I felt it.

Not a sound.

Not a scent.

A shift.

Like the space behind me had changed temperature.

My skin prickled.

My shoulders went tight.

My stomach did that familiar twist that had become my body’s version of a fire alarm.

I slowly lifted my head.

And saw him.

Alex.

Walking between the shelves like he was part of the architecture.

He wasn’t loud. Of course he wasn’t. Alex didn’t do loud unless he was making someone regret existing. He moved with that calm, confident silence like he belonged everywhere, even in places that worshipped quiet.

He looked… cleaner today. Different hoodie. Hair slightly less chaotic. But his eyes were the same—storm-dark, alert, too aware for a normal student.

He scanned the room once, and his gaze locked onto me instantly.

Like he’d known exactly where I was going to sit.

Like I was a beacon.

My breath caught.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then he walked toward my table like it was destiny and not stalking.

No.

Absolutely not.

I grabbed my notebook and laptop so fast I nearly knocked my coffee over and stood up.

New plan:

Move.

If I moved, he wouldn’t follow.

Because that would be insane.

I walked quickly to another table near the opposite side of the floor, sat down, and pretended I’d always been there.

I opened my notebook like I was innocent.

I tapped my pen like I was busy.

I did not look up.

I counted silently in my head.

Three.

Two.

One—

A chair scraped softly.

Across from me.

I looked up.

Alex was sitting there, calm as breathing, like he’d been invited.

He didn’t smile.

Not yet.

He just looked at me like this was normal.

I stared at him. “No.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “No what?”

“No… you,” I hissed.

Alex leaned back in his chair. “I’m studying.”

“In my face?”

“Across from you,” he corrected.

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not,” he said, annoyingly calm. “Different angle.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You followed me.”

Alex’s mouth curved faintly. “Yes.”

The honesty made me blink.

“You’re not even embarrassed.”

“No,” he said.

I stared at him harder. “You should be.”

Alex tilted his head slightly. “Why?”

“Because this is creepy,” I snapped.

His eyes darkened just a fraction, not angry—more like he didn’t like that word.

“I’m not here to be creepy,” he said quietly. “I’m here because you came here.”

I swallowed.

“That’s not better,” I said.

“It is for me,” he said.

I inhaled slowly through my nose, because violence was not allowed in libraries.

“Fine,” I muttered. “If you’re studying, then study.”

Alex nodded like I’d granted permission he didn’t need. “Okay.”

I stared down at my notebook and tried to write.

Tried.

His presence was like a humming wire—quiet but impossible to ignore.

I heard him open a book.

I heard pages turn.

I heard nothing else, because the library swallowed sound.

After a minute, curiosity betrayed me.

I glanced up.

Alex had a thick book open in front of him.

A serious-looking book with dense text.

He sat with perfect calm, eyes lowered, posture relaxed, like he was actually focused.

For a second, I thought: Okay. Maybe he really is studying.

Then I noticed something.

His book was upside down.

Fully upside down.

The title at the top was inverted. The paragraphs were inverted. The page numbers were inverted.

And Alex was staring at it like it made perfect sense.

I froze.

Then my brain tried not to laugh, because laughing would mean admitting he was funny, and admitting that would mean admitting I didn’t hate this.

But the laugh escaped anyway.

A small, sharp sound that felt like a c***k in my armor.

Alex’s eyes flicked up instantly.

His expression didn’t change much, but his gaze sharpened like he’d just caught treasure.

“What?” he asked.

I bit my lip.

Tried to control my face.

Failed.

“Your book,” I whispered, because it was a library and loudness was illegal. “It’s… upside down.”

Alex blinked.

Then looked down at the book.

Slowly.

Like he was noticing it for the first time.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Then he turned the book right-side up with complete calm, like he’d done it on purpose.

“There,” he said.

I stared at him in disbelief. “Were you… reading it upside down?”

Alex’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He held my gaze. “To see if you’d look.”

My laugh died.

My cheeks heated.

That was not—That was not fair.

“I wasn’t looking,” I lied.

“You were,” he said.

“I was checking to see if you were stalking me.”

Alex leaned forward slightly. “And?”

“And you were,” I said.

He nodded once, like we’d reached agreement. “Yes.”

I exhaled through my nose, trying not to smile.

Trying.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked quietly.

Alex’s eyes held mine.

A beat of silence.

Then he said, softer, “Because you disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear,” I said.

“You did,” he insisted, calm but certain. “You left. You didn’t come back to the party. You didn’t answer my knock.”

I stiffened. “You knocked?”

Alex’s gaze flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes.

“Once,” he said.

I swallowed.

I hadn’t heard it. Or maybe I’d heard something and convinced myself it was nothing because I was tired and furious and scared.

“Why?” I asked.

Alex’s jaw tightened slightly, like the answer cost him.

“To make sure you were in your room,” he said.

My stomach twisted.

“That’s… still creepy,” I whispered.

Alex didn’t flinch. “I know.”

“Why do you keep saying you know?” I demanded. “Like you’re aware you’re a walking red flag and you’re fine with it.”

His mouth curved faintly. “I’m not fine with it.”

That surprised me.

I searched his face for a joke.

Didn’t find one.

“So what,” I said carefully, “you’re just… going to follow me everywhere?”

Alex leaned back again, calm returning. “Only when I need to.”

“And when do you ‘need’ to?”

His eyes darkened slightly.

“At night,” he said.

A chill crawled under my skin.

It was daytime now. Bright library. Safe silence. But the word night pulled the memory of his shaking hand back into my mind.

“The moon makes it louder.”

I swallowed hard.

“You’re not normal,” I whispered, not as an insult—more like a realization I couldn’t keep swallowing down.

Alex’s gaze held mine with steady intensity.

“I told you,” he said.

I forced my focus back to my notebook like it was a shield.

“Study,” I muttered.

Alex’s voice softened, like he couldn’t help it. “I am.”

I wrote down a line of notes.

It came out like a scribble.

I tried again.

A minute passed.

Then another.

We sat in strange quiet tension that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, which was the worst part.

Because discomfort would’ve been easier.

After a while, I felt his gaze on me again—subtle but constant.

I glanced up.

He wasn’t staring at my face now.

He was staring at my hands.

Specifically… my wrist.

Like he was checking my pulse again, like he wanted to make sure I was real.

I pulled my hand back. “Stop looking at me like that.”

His eyes lifted. “Like what?”

“Like you’re… guarding me.”

He went still for a beat.

Then his voice dropped, almost too quiet. “I am.”

My pen paused.

I stared at him.

“Why?” I asked again, because the question was a knot in my throat.

Alex didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze flicked toward the windows, toward the quad, toward the far line of trees you could barely see from here.

Then back.

“Because there are rules,” he said.

I frowned. “Campus rules?”

Alex’s mouth twitched, humorless. “Those are the ones you can read.”

My skin prickled.

I whispered, “And the ones I can’t?”

Alex’s eyes darkened, and for one second he looked older than he should. Like he’d lived with this too long.

“Those are the ones you’re breaking without knowing it,” he said.

My stomach twisted hard.

I opened my mouth to ask what that meant—

And then it happened.

A sound from the shelves nearby.

A soft bump.

A shift.

I turned my head toward the aisle beside our table.

A thick, old-looking book—leather spine, worn edges—slid halfway off a shelf like an invisible hand had tugged it.

I froze.

The book tipped further.

Then fell.

It hit the floor with a heavy thud that echoed louder than it should have in the quiet library.

A few students glanced over, annoyed.

I stared at the fallen book like it had just dropped out of the sky on purpose.

Alex’s posture changed instantly—subtle, alert, like a switch flipped.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

I frowned. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t touch it,” he said.

That only made me want to touch it more.

Because I was stubborn, and because Alex telling me not to do something was basically a curse that made me do it.

Also because the book had fallen right next to my foot, half-open.

And the page it had opened to showed something that made my breath catch.

A symbol.

Drawn in dark ink, sharp and clean against the yellowed paper.

A shape like a crescent—part moon, part claw—with a line through it like a seal.

My skin prickled.

Because I’d seen that shape before.

Not in the book.

On Alex.

On his wrist, half-hidden by his sleeve.

A mark he covered like it mattered.

I stared at the symbol, then slowly lifted my gaze to Alex.

His eyes were locked on the book now, expression gone still and dangerous.

“What is this?” I whispered.

Alex didn’t answer.

His hand moved—fast—tugging his sleeve back without thinking.

Just enough for me to see it clearly.

The same symbol.

Stamped into his skin like a brand.

The library air suddenly felt colder.

Like the shelves were listening.

Like the book hadn’t fallen by accident.

I swallowed, heart hammering.

“Alex,” I whispered again, barely breathing, “why does that match your mark?”

Alex’s gaze lifted to mine.

Storm-dark.

Controlled.

And his mouth curved into that slow, knowing half-smile that never meant anything good.

He didn’t answer.

He only watched me—silent, tense—like the truth had just stepped into the room and sat down between us.