"Does it hurt?" Freya asked, keeping her eyes on the road as she drove.
Ashen gave her a sideways glance, his lips twisting in irritation. "Try getting punched in the face a few times before asking me that."
"I shouldn't have asked," she muttered under her breath.
Ashen rubbed the sore spots on his face. Thankfully, there were no scars or bleeding, only swelling and pain. Most of the heavier blows had been blocked by raising his guard up, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt, it hurt like hell.
"Give it a few days," Freya added calmly, "two days at most, and the swelling should go down."
Ashen scoffed. "Oh, geez. Thanks. That's so comforting."
His voice dripped with sarcasm, and Freya frowned.
"Do you have to be so grumpy? I was just trying to help."
"Grumpy?" Ashen shot back. "I got punched in the face because of you. Believe me, I've earned the right to be grumpy."
Freya chose silence over arguing. The air in the car grew quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the road beneath the tires.
The ride from school to their neighborhood wasn't long. Thirty minutes by car, give or take, and they reached the suburbs. Houses lined both sides of the road, neat and uniform, fading into trees as they neared the edge of town.
"I'll be getting to my place soon," Ashen said. "Where's your house?"
He wanted to know where she lived, so he could calculate the distance from his own house.
"Down the road," she explained. "It's the last house before the woods. About a ten-minute walk from here."
Ten minutes wasn't bad at all. Ashen decided he'd follow her home now, so he could memorize the road and return on his own later. That was the plan, until Freya interrupted it.
"How about we do this instead?" she said, glancing at him. "We go to your place first, finish the essay there, then I'll head home on my own."
Ashen's lips curved into a sly grin. "Jumping straight to meeting the parents already? I didn't take you for the impatient type, Redhead."
Freya rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I just think your house would be better. Being in your comfort zone might help you focus more than working in a stranger's house."
Ashen shook his head. "Your idea has been considered and rejected. We're going to your place like we agreed."
Freya tightened her grip on the steering wheel, trying to keep her composure. She pulled over and parked by the side of the road to face him properly.
"Is there a reason you don't want me to go to your house?" she asked bluntly.
Ashen smirked. "I don't know. Is there a reason you don't want me to go to yours?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Silence hung between them, and Freya's expression showed she was carefully picking her next words, or trying not to snap at him.
"Am I mistaken here?" she finally asked. "Because it feels like you're the one doing me a favor, when it's actually the other way around."
Normally, the person asking for help should be the one listening and being flexible. But somehow, with Ashen, the roles felt reversed.
"I am grateful," Ashen replied smoothly. "But remember, the only reason I needed this favor in the first place is because of you."
"Me? How is that my fault?" Freya asked, confused.
Ashen leaned back, confident. "Simple. If your ancestors and mine hadn't teamed up to fight demons and evil creatures back then, the town would have been destroyed. No town, no Mr. Alaric, and no essay assignment. See? All your fault."
Freya blinked at him, speechless.
"…?"
She gave up. Instead of wasting brain cells on his nonsense, she restarted the car and got back on the road.
Ashen leaned back in his seat, satisfied. "Now you're talking." His smug smile screamed I win.
Not long after, they reached her house. And she was right, it wasn't far from his.
But "house" wasn't the right word. Estate was more fitting. From the massive gates to the enormous mansion inside, everything screamed wealth.
It took nearly three minutes of straight driving from the gate to the main building. No turns, just a wide private road leading to the front yard.
"I knew you were rich," Ashen muttered, eyes wide, "but I didn't know it was royalty-level rich."
The mansion towered before him, luxurious in every detail. The inside, when he stepped in, was even more breathtaking, decorated so beautifully it looked like Christmas every day.
"Technically, you're not wrong," Freya said casually. "The Dawns, like the Freemans, are one of Riverdale's founding families. And my dad? He's the mayor of Riverdale."
Ashen arched a brow. "Didn't take you for the bragging type. Good to know."
He continued to scan the place. For such a massive house, it felt oddly empty. "Don't you have, like, maids or something?"
"A few," Freya answered. "But my parents prefer the house quiet. The maids come in the morning when no one's around, do the cleaning, then leave."
Ashen scratched his chin. "Rich people and their strange habits. You've got to give them credit."
Freya ignored the comment.
"Wait here. I need to change. I'll be back," she said, heading upstairs.
Ashen smirked. "Signals already, huh? At least try to be subtle, woman." He flopped onto the couch with a grin.
She didn't bother responding. A sharp glare and a walk to her room was all the reply he deserved.
Ashen leaned back comfortably when suddenly—
"~~~Ash~en~~~"
His head snapped up.
"Uh…?"
He could've sworn someone whispered his name.
"Hey, how many people are home currently?" he called toward Freya's room.
"Just us," she answered, her voice carrying faintly down the hall. He heard the sound of fabric, she was changing clothes. "Why?"
"As~~hen~~~…"
The whisper came again, this time from the opposite direction, down the dark corridor.
Ashen stiffened. His lips parted slightly.
"That… can't be right."
Freya was the only other person in the house. So who, or what, was whispering his name?
The air felt heavier all of a sudden.
And Ashen, despite his usual cocky nature, felt the first prickling of unease.