Sheila’s POV
The door swings open, and there he is.
Brendan, standing in the dim light of my dorm hallway like he owns the space. His presence hits me first that magnetic, suffocating weight that always makes my pulse spike before my brain even registers what’s happening.
He doesn’t rush in. He just steps inside, eyes scanning me from head to toe. The smirk is there, slow and deliberate, and it twists something deep inside me part irritation, part ache, part something I don’t even want to name.
“You didn’t run,” he says. Not a question. A statement.
I fold my arms across my chest, pretending like I have any authority here. “I didn’t think I had to.”
He laughs softly, low and rough, and I shiver. He steps closer. Too close. His hand brushes against the doorframe, near my shoulder, and
