—Natasha's POV—
The university, in the lull between afternoon classes and evening activities, was a ghost ship. Hollow, echoing hallways replaced the usual river of students. I had become a creature of these empty spaces, mapping a route through back corridors and forgotten stairwells, a desperate attempt to avoid the gravitational pull of the storm I knew was gathering. The scent of old books and industrial floor wax was a poor substitute for clean air, but it was safe. It was normal. It was everything my life was not.
But he had a predator’s instinct for finding prey in the most desolate of places.
I turned a corner into a long, silent hallway on the third floor of the humanities building, a place usually reserved for PhD candidates and philosophical debates. And he was simply there.
