Evelyn turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face. She kept doing it even after the first shock faded, hoping the chill would push the heavy feeling out of her chest. When she finally looked up, the girl in the mirror looked exhausted. Dark circles sat under her eyes and her skin had a pale, almost sickly tone she didn't recognize.
She dried her face with the towel. The blisters caught her eye again in the reflection. They had definitely gotten worse overnight. The red lines along her forearms stood out sharper, and the one on her inner thigh throbbed with a steady heat that made her shift uncomfortably. She touched one lightly and winced.
"It was just a dream," she muttered under her breath. "No need to worry. Just forget it."
She forced the corners of her mouth up into a smile that didn't reach her eyes, then blew out a long breath and turned the tap off.
The rest of the morning passed in a fog. She got dressed on autopilot, ate half a piece of toast without tasting it, and walked to campus with her bag slung over one shoulder. The streets and familiar buildings passed by, but she barely registered any of it. Her mind kept drifting back to the feeling of being watched, the cold touch on her skin, the way she couldn't move no matter how hard she tried.
College halls buzzed with the usual energy when she arrived. Students laughed, called out to each other, compared notes. Evelyn moved through it all like she was walking underwater. She sat through her classes, wrote down what the professors said, and nodded when people spoke to her, but none of it really landed. Part of her stayed stuck in the shadows of last night.
When her last class finally ended, she stepped out into the hallway without thinking. Her feet carried her forward while her thoughts stayed somewhere else. That uneasy prickling returned at the back of her neck, the sense that eyes were following her just out of sight. She told herself it was nothing, just leftover nerves playing tricks.
She turned the corner without looking up.
Evelyn rounded the corner too quickly, her bag swinging against her hip and the stack of books in her arms threatening to spill. She collided with someone solid before she could stop herself.
A sharp clatter echoed down the corridor as several potted specimens hit the floor. Soil scattered across the tiles.
"Damn it," the man muttered under his breath.
She dropped to one knee at once, reaching for the nearest pot. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't—"
"Just don't touch anything. Stay back."
The words came out sharper than any professor had ever spoken to her. Evelyn froze, fingers hovering above a small fern. When she looked up, Professor Huxley was already crouching, gathering the plants with careful, economical movements. His expression shifted in the space of a breath—from irritation to something smoother, almost apologetic.
"I didn't see you," he said, voice lower now, warmer. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Really. I'm the one who should be asking you that." She gestured at the scattered soil. "Your samples…"
"They'll survive." He set the last pot upright and brushed dirt from his palms. His gaze flicked over her, quick and assessing, before settling on her face. Then it dropped again, lingering this time on the side of her neck where the skin still stung.
Evelyn resisted the urge to cover the blister. The damn thing had appeared and refused to settle. It itched worse when she thought about it.
Professor Huxley rose to his feet. She followed, clutching her books tighter. Up close he looked younger than thirty, though something in the set of his shoulders made the age hard to pin down. His eyes were a clear, steady grey.
"You have a rather angry-looking reaction there," he said, nodding toward her neck. "Mind if I take a look?"
Before she could answer, he stepped closer. His fingers brushed the collar of her shirt aside with the detached efficiency of someone who handled specimens every day. The touch was light, professional. Still, it lasted a fraction longer than it needed to.
Evelyn held still. A faint prickle moved across her skin, the same uneasy feeling she sometimes got right before a storm rolled in.
"It looks like contact dermatitis," he murmured. "Common enough with certain forest plants. Especially the ones with milky sap." His thumb hovered near the edge of the blister without quite pressing. "Did you brush against something thorny recently? Like Raven Bud"
She thought of the rose bush that had snagged her fingers the night the dog appeared. "Maybe. I wasn't paying attention."
His jaw tightened once, a small movement she almost missed. Then the professional mask clicked back into place and he withdrew his hand.
"You should have that looked at in the infirmary. Tell them it's plant-related—they'll know what to give you." He offered a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "And perhaps walk a little slower in corridors. Some of us carry fragile things."
Evelyn gave a short laugh, more out of politeness than amusement. "Noted. Sorry again about your plants."
"No harm done." He bent to pick up the last specimen, cradling it against his chest. For a moment his nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly, as if testing the air between them. Then he straightened, the warm lecturer expression firmly back in control. "Take care of that blister, Evelyn. We wouldn't want it spreading."
She blinked. She hadn't told him her name in this class yet.
Before she could ask how he knew it, he was already walking away, footsteps measured and unhurried down the long corridor.
Evelyn stood there another second, fingers rising unconsciously to the sore spot on her neck. The skin felt hotter than it had five minutes ago. She shook her head, told herself she was imagining things, and headed toward the infirmary.
Behind her, Ryan Huxley did not look back. But his grip on the plant pots had gone tighter and it was visible because of the tension in his knuckles,
"Was he worried about me just now?" she whispered to herself.
The small spark of warmth stayed with her as she finally turned and kept walking. For the first time since waking up that morning, the heavy dread from the night before loosened its grip, if only for a little while.