The late-afternoon sun hit the stone steps of the humanities building in a warm, amber haze. For the first time in what felt like months, the air didn’t smell like sweat, turf, or the chalk dust from the tactical briefing rooms.
Lila stepped out of her advanced literature seminar, slinging her heavy canvas bag over one shoulder, her shoulders practically sagging under the weight of a long week. She reached for her phone to check the time, but as she looked up, her footsteps stalled.
Leaning against the wrought-iron railing at the bottom of the stairs, looking entirely out of place among the bustling crowd of students, was Ryker.
He wasn’t wearing his official varsity gear or his sweat-soaked practice jersey. Instead, he wore a simple dark hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows
