Stella
The closet door groaned open fifteen minutes after the power returned.
It was some freshman, wide-eyed and clueless, who found us. He muttered an awkward apology and bolted before Viktor could even glare.
Now we’re walking back toward the auditorium in silence, the distance between us louder than any words.
He hasn’t looked at me once since we got out.
Not when I tried to speak. Not when I touched his sleeve.
And definitely not now, as he walks two steps ahead, hands clenched at his sides like he’s punishing himself.
It stings more than it should.
In that dark room, something shifted. Or maybe it almost did.
And now?
Now it’s like he’s pretending none of it happened.
Like I imagined it—the warmth in his voice, the way he said he’d burn the world for me.
I wrap my arms ar
