He said he wouldn’t be far. Still, I watched him drive away in the opposite direction from campus. Before leaving, he mentioned—far too casually—that he needed to “pick something up.”
I didn’t ask what. At this point, I’m afraid to ask.
The walk from my apartment to the Communications building takes about fifteen minutes. More than enough time to think about the same thing over and over: how to explain that I disappeared last night without warning.
No calls. No messages. No stories.
When I turned my phone on last night, I found several messages from Carmen—each one more worried than the last. I only managed to reply “Don’t worry, I’m fine” at one in the morning, after Lorcan and I got back from picking up my things.
I rehearse answers as I walk.
That I felt sick.
That I went to bed early.
That I lost my phone.
All reasonable. None true.
The campus looks the same as always. People coming and going. Overlapping conversations. Laughter. Complaints. Everything normal.
Me? Not so much.
And whole “brain surgery” thing is still unresolved. I choose not to think about it.
For now.
I reach the front of the building and spot them immediately. Carmen and Gabriel are talking. Gabriel is staring at something on his phone while Carmen gestures emphatically beside him. That’s usually not a good sign.
When Carmen sees me, she freezes for a second. Then she jumps up and runs over.
“Where were you?!”
She grabs my shoulders, like she needs to confirm I’m not a ghost.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Alive. In one piece. Not possessed.”
That last part was unnecessary. I hope Gabriel wasn’t listening.
“I was worried because you went back to your apartment exhausted yesterday,” Carmen continues. “You didn’t answer all afternoon or all night. I thought you’d been kidnapped.”
“Or worse,” Gabriel adds, “that you willingly went with someone dangerous.”
“I didn’t think that—”
“You sent me a voice message crying.”
“I was processing.”
I take a deep breath and gently free myself from Carmen’s grip. I need room to lie comfortably.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“I felt sick,” I start. “I went to bed early. Didn’t notice my phone ringing. Then it died. The end.”
Carmen raises an eyebrow.
“And how do you explain the message at one in the morning?”
“That’s when I woke up.”
“And why didn’t you answer after that?”
“That’s when I went back to sleep.”
Carmen and Gabriel exchange a look.
“Do you believe her?” Gabriel asks.
“Not a word,” Carmen replies, crossing her arms. “I still think it’s a guy.”
I blink, lost.
“We have a bet,” Carmen explains. “Gabriel thinks you were recruited by a cult. I think you have a secret boyfriend.”
I open my mouth to defend my nonexistent cult life or romantic life.
I don’t get the chance.
A deep, restrained roar—polite, controlled, but unmistakably violent—echoes from the street.
I recognize that sound.
My nonexistent cult or romantic life has just caught up to me.
No. Not now.
A car that really shouldn’t surprise me anymore—but still does—parks in a reserved spot practically in front of us. It growls once more before shutting off. A sharp click, and the driver’s door opens.
It’s Lorcan.
Sunglasses. Sling bag. He walks calmly toward the building, unhurried, like the world should adjust to his pace. He doesn’t look around. He doesn’t look directly at me.
But for half a second, I feel like he knows exactly where I am.
A chill runs down my spine.
He enters the building, and the campus seems to collectively exhale. Murmurs of awe, envy, and curiosity ripple around us. Some students even approach the car to take pictures. It is a very distinctive car—well beyond the reach of most of campus.
Gabriel pulls out a notebook in one smooth motion.
“Okay,” he says, writing. “Let’s review. Absurdly expensive car. Guy who looks like a movie protagonist. Dramatic campus arrival… And our friend here, acting weird for days, vanished all afternoon and night.”
“Gabriel, no,” I say.
“I don’t know, but—” Carmen fans herself. “The temperature just went up.”
“Carmen, no,” Gabriel says.
Carmen steps closer to me, staring. Meanwhile Gabriel heads toward the group gathered around Lorcan’s car, notebook in hand.
“You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“I’m not in trouble,” I say. “Everything’s normal.”
“You’ll tell me everything later, right?”
“Don’t I always?”
“Lately, it doesn’t feel like it…” she says, puffing out her cheeks.
Gabriel finishes taking notes and comes back.
“Well, we have class—but this isn’t over.”
“When is it ever over with you?” Carmen snaps.
We head inside toward our classroom. The murmur settles back into something normal, as if nothing extraordinary just happened.
Aside from the impossible car parked outside. Or the man who clearly wasn’t a student driving it.
Totally normal.
We sit down, and I breathe. For the first time that morning, I think maybe everything will be fine.
That’s when I see him.
Lorcan is sitting in the very last row, at the top of the lecture hall. No sunglasses—his golden eyes fully visible. He has a tablet the size of a sketchpad, still wrapped in protective plastic, like he bought it on the way. He’s sitting perfectly straight, trying to pay attention with the naturalness of someone who has always been there.
Like someone who studied infiltration manuals.
There’s a small group of curious students nearby, whispering.
“That’s the guy with the expensive car.”
“He’s gorgeous—and those eyes!”
“Contacts?”
“Our kids would have his eyes…”
For a second, our gazes meet.
Moments later, my phone vibrates.
A message from Lorcan.
I pulled some favors to be here.
Ignore me. I’m just keeping an eye on you.
I close my eyes for a second. He writes like this is the most normal thing in the world.
I reply.
Favors?
Better not ask.
And did you have to take off the sunglasses?
I can’t see indoors with them. They’re not magical.
Definitely, nothing is going to be normal.