Anna's POV
I don’t go looking for Bella.
That’s the thing—I never do. She just has a way of finding me, like tension itself knows my name.
I’m crossing the quad after my last lecture, arms wrapped around my books, head full of half-formed thoughts about essays and deadlines and Marcus’s smile when he’s exhausted but proud. The day is sharp with early cold, the kind that bites at your ears and makes everything feel louder than it should.
“Anna.”
I know her voice instantly. Smooth. Controlled. Designed to sound reasonable even when it’s anything but.
I turn to face Bella, who stands a few feet away in a tailored coat that probably costs more than my house. Her hair is perfect, her posture effortless, like the world has always made room for her.
“We need to stop meeting like this,” I
