Morning doesn’t soften anything.
Sunlight slices through Rina’s curtains like it has a purpose, sharp and unyielding. Her phone lies face down on the desk, silent, empty. No messages. No missed calls.
Jace said tomorrow.
Tomorrow is here.
She moves through her routine with mechanical precision, but every step, every brush of hair across her shoulder, pulls her thoughts back to him—his voice low, his eyes dark, the way he had said pretending wasn’t working anymore.
Neither is avoiding him.
By the time she reaches the quad, the campus is alive with whispers. Glances skim across her like blades. Someone’s phone flashes the CampusWatch logo for a second before vanishing. She doesn’t look. She can’t.
The damage doesn’t need an audience. It will come, whether she sees it or not.
Her phon
