CHAPTER 3:A QUIET PLACE BETWEEN US
1348 Words
By lunchtime, Aurora’s nerves were frayed thin as silk.
Classes passed in a blur. She took notes automatically, answered questions when called on, and avoided looking toward the courtyard window where the hunter had watched her earlier. When she finally gathered the courage to look again, he was gone.
But the dread in her stomach hadn’t left with him.
“Aurora?”
Tyler’s voice brought her back.
She blinked and turned. Students were already filing toward the cafeteria, but Tyler stood beside her desk, clutching his notebook with both hands.
“You didn’t hear me calling your name,” he said, eyes soft with concern. “You seem far away today.”
She forced a smile. “Just tired.”
Tyler studied her for a moment. His silence wasn’t judgmental; it was careful, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle without forcing any wrong fit.
Then he said, “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Aurora hesitated.
The fear from earlier whispers that she should stay somewhere crowded, somewhere safe. Near people, near teachers. Hunters rarely approached busy places.
But she also felt suffocated.
Watched.
Trapped in her own skin.
And something about Tyler, about his calm presence and unspoken kindness, felt like a breath of air she desperately needed.
“Okay,” she said softly.
His expression brightened in a way he didn’t quite manage to hide.
They walked out of the main building, moving past the cafeteria entrance where the smell of warm bread and soup drifted out. Instead of heading inside with the rest of the students, Tyler led her toward the garden courtyard behind the library.
Aurora blinked in surprise.
The courtyard was beautiful.
Golden leaves drifted lazily from maple trees, gathering beside carved stone benches. A small fountain trickled at the center, its gentle rhythm blending with birdsong. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting soft patterns on the ground.
No crowd, no noise, just quiet.
Her heart eased.
“I didn’t know this place existed,” she murmured.
“That’s the point.” Tyler smiled slightly. “Most students don’t. Everyone rushes to the cafeteria. This place stays empty.”
He motioned to a bench beneath a flowering dogwood tree.
Aurora sat, letting her body sink into the cool stone. Tyler sat beside her, not too close, but close enough for her to feel his warmth. A comfortable silence settled over them.
For the first time since last night, Aurora felt her breath flow naturally.
Tyler glanced at her again, eyes thoughtful. “You’ve been different today.”
Her stomach twisted. “Different how?”
“Quieter,” he said gently. “You look like you’re carrying something heavy.”
Aurora’s fingers curled around the edge of the bench.
She wished she could tell him the truth.
That a hunter might be tracking her.
That she had nearly lost control of her vampire instincts last night.
That she was terrified her façade had cracked.
But she couldn’t.
Not without risking everything.
So she looked down at her hands instead. “I’m fine.”
Tyler’s gaze softened.
“You know,” he said slowly, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”
Her breath caught.
He wasn’t prying. He wasn’t asking questions. He wasn’t demanding answers she couldn’t give. He was just offering a place for her to rest.
Aurora swallowed. “I’m not pretending.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Aurora, you apologized to a textbook earlier instead of passing it to me.”
She blinked. “I what?”
“You were that distracted,” he said, lips tugging into a small smile. “It was cute.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “You saw that?”
“I see more than people think,” he admitted quietly.
Aurora didn’t know how to respond to that. But something warm unfurled inside her chest, something fragile and dangerous in its own way.
Tyler opened his notebook and pulled out a small paper packet. Inside were two honey biscuits.
He offered one to her.
“You skipped breakfast,” he said simply.
She opened her mouth to protest, then stopped.
He was right. She had.
Her hunger was different from human hunger, but the act of eating helped her blend in. And the gesture was thoughtful in a way Philip would never understand.
Aurora took the biscuit with a small smile. “Thank you.”
Tyler unwrapped his as well, taking a careful bite. His shoulders relaxed in the sunlight, and for a moment, Aurora saw the truth behind his quietness, how much he carried, even without speaking about it.
His clothes were worn.
His books were second-hand.
His lunch was always small.
He came from a family struggling to keep him in this academy. Everyone knew it, everyone except the royals, who never noticed anything beneath their feet.
She wondered how heavy his world felt sometimes.
She wondered what burdens he hid behind those gentle eyes.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked suddenly, catching her gaze.
Aurora startled. “Nothing.”
He smiled, soft, amused. “You always say that too.”
“Because it’s true,” she insisted.
His eyes flickered to her hands; she hadn’t realized she had been gripping the biscuit too tightly, crumbling its edges.
“Aurora…” His voice was warm yet uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he should continue. “If something is hurting you, you can tell me. You don’t have to carry it alone.”
Something in her chest tightened painfully.
He didn’t know her.
Not really.
Not the truth, not the darkness, not the blood-hunger or the secrets.
But he cared.
It made her feel exposed and comforted all at once.
Aurora looked away at the fountain, watching a leaf drift across the water’s surface.
“I’m just tired,” she whispered, the closest to the truth she could offer without breaking everything.
Tyler accepted the answer without pushing.
He leaned back against the bench, closing his eyes briefly as the sunlight warmed his face. For a moment, Aurora watched him, the soft fall of his hair, the faint freckles across his nose, the peaceful rise and fall of his breath.
He looked so human.
So breakable.
So unaware of the danger sitting beside him.
Her heart ached.
“Tyler…” she said softly.
He opened his eyes.
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re here."
That was the much she could say.
Tyler’s expression stilled. A faint flush colored his cheeks.
“I’m glad you’re here too,” he said quietly.
A small breeze rustled the flowers above them. Sunlight flickered through branches, casting shifting shadows across their feet.
Aurora took a slow breath.
Her fear hadn’t vanished.
The hunter still hovered in her thoughts.
Her hunger still hid beneath her skin.
But sitting here with Tyler’s gentle presence beside her, the warmth of the sun on her face, the quiet steadiness of the garden, it felt like she had stumbled into a small sanctuary.
A moment where the world didn’t feel so heavy.
A moment where she could pretend, even for a heartbeat, that she was just a girl sharing a quiet afternoon with someone who cared.
“Next time,” Tyler said softly, “if you ever need silence or a place to hide from Philip and his royal ego, you can come here.”
Aurora laughed under her breath. “Is that why you brought me?”
“Partly,” he admitted, eyes twinkling. “But mostly because you looked like you needed somewhere safe.”
Safe?
The word struck her deeper than she expected.
She turned toward him. “Thank you, Tyler.”
He offered her a small, shy smile that made her chest feel too warm.
They sat like that for a while. Quiet, gentle, without pressure. The kind of silence that didn’t demand explanations or hide expectations.
And though Aurora couldn’t say the words aloud, she felt them settle in her heart:
For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel alone.
- Writer
