The evening air was cool when I stepped out of my house, the faint bite of autumn wind brushing across my skin as I tightened my grip on my bag strap.
Tonight, as I climbed the stairs up to his room, I sensed the difference immediately.
The faint scrape of a chair. A presence.
When I walked into the study, Damian was already there, seated at his table, his posture straight, one arm resting against the dark wood. His eyes lifted the moment I entered, steady and unreadable, as though he had been waiting specifically for me.
I paused mid-step. The air shifted, the memory of the cafeteria hours earlier flickering back, unbidden. His words. His presence at our table. The sharpness in Taylor’s voice. The way Damian had left without another glance.
I swallowed, willing the heat from my face
