Zara pov:
I couldn't sleep last night.
My mind was a scratched record, stuck on the same jagged groove: What upset Elio so much? What is he doing with those guys? Especially Soren. I couldn't reconcile the boy who texted me about terrible gym playlists with the silent king who sat beside a monster. My very caring Eli. There had to be a line between them, a reason, and the not-knowing was a physical ache behind my ribs.
Luckily, it was the weekend. I could sleep in. Or that was the plan, before Elio's morning text: Busy today. Won't be around. God knew where he went. The finality of it left me untethered.
I tried to read. I tried to focus on assignments. Impossible. My brain kept looping back to the feel of my own doorknob in my hand last night, the shadow in my room, the terrifying warmth of his breath. I should have stayed in the car. I should never have gone inside. A flush of shame followed the memory. I hated my body for the traitorous shiver that had run through it, for the part of me that recognized the dark poetry in his absolute, devastating focus. Fuck.
Since stillness was a form of torture, I decided to move. I needed to check on Isa. She hadn't looked right last night, her smile a little too bright, her laughter a beat too quick. I pulled on jean shorts and a simple cropped top, my version of armor for daylight.
I knocked on her dorm door—unlike some people, I had etiquette. "It's open," came her muffled reply.
I found her sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a sea of fabric swatches—silks, linens, rough-hewn wools. They were spread around her like fallen leaves. "Hi hi," I said softly, closing the door behind me.
She didn't look up. "What are you doing?" I asked, sinking down beside her.
"Honestly?" she sighed, running a hand through her already-messy honey-blonde hair. "I don't know. Just trying to… make something. With my hands. It helps."
Her voice was thin, scraped raw. She sounded exhausted. "Hmm. You sound tired. Didn't you sleep at all?" I kept my voice gentle, watching her profile.
She finally glanced at me, her eyes ringed with shadows she hadn't bothered to conceal, and then quickly looked away. Bingo.
"You don't have to tell me," I said, picking up a swatch of emerald velvet. "It's just… I'm worried. You look tired. You seem tired. Everything about you isn't giving 'Isa' right now."
She was quiet for so long I thought she'd shut down. Then she took a shaky breath. "Well…" Another sigh, heavier. "It's my dad. He's… sick. Really sick. And I don't think he'll…" Her voice cracked, and she pressed her fingers to her lips, as if to physically hold the words—and the sob—inside.
My heart clenched for her. I knew that particular flavor of dread. Before I could say anything, find any useless, comforting words, the door burst open.
Juniper breezed in, a whirlwind of energy and cherry-scented perfume. "Hanging without me? No fun!"
Isa's transformation was instant. She swiped a hand under her eyes, pasted on a dazzling smile, and shoved a pile of fabric toward Juniper. "Just brainstorming for that design project. Boring stuff."
Juniper plopped down, successfully inserting herself between us. She didn't notice the red rims of Isa's eyes, the tension in her shoulders. I did.
"Nah, I was just leaving," I said, pushing myself up. I caught Isa's gaze as I moved to the door and gave a small, deliberate nod toward my phone in my pocket. We'll talk. She gave an almost imperceptible nod back. Okay.
---
Back in the quiet of my own room, the silence felt heavier, charged with Isa's secret. I was just sinking into the feeling when my phone buzzed, lighting up the dim room.
Elio: You free this evening?
The simple question sent a jolt through me, a pure, bright spark in the gray haze of the day. At least something could make me smile.
Me: Yes, of course. Why?
Elio: Cool. I'll be at your dorm by 5.
No explanation. No context. Just a statement of fact. Typical Elio. And yet, the mystery of it, the suddenness, cut through my lingering anxiety and replaced it with a buzzing anticipation.
Time didn't fly; it crawled. I attempted a nap, but my mind was a live wire. Finally, as the afternoon light began to soften, I got ready.
I pulled on a thick, cream-colored knit sweater—soft, slightly oversized, the sleeves long enough to cover most of my hands. It felt like a hug. Dark, high-waisted trousers, thick socks, and my sturdy ankle boots. Finally, my armor: a long, heavy wool coat buttoned to the top, a scarf wound around my neck and mouth, and a beanie tugged low.
When I stepped outside, the crisp evening air was a shock, but I was warm inside my layers. Wrapped. Contained. Knowing Elio, he'd be precisely on time, not a minute early. I slipped into my car, started the engine for warmth, and queued up a playlist of moody instrumentals. I texted him: In my car out front.
At 4:59, I saw him. He emerged from between the buildings, a tall, solid figure in a black leather jacket and dark jeans. He walked with a purposeful, grounded stride that was entirely his own. I gave a short, soft tap on the horn.
He saw the car, and a slow, genuine grin spread across his face, softening the usual sternness of his features. He came around to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid in. "Scoot over, little ghost. I'm driving."
A rush of warmth flooded me at the nickname—his nickname for me, not Soren's. It felt safe. We did a quick, awkward half-hug over the center console before I scrambled over to the passenger seat. His familiar scent—soap, leather, and something uniquely, subtly spicy—filled the space.
"Hi," I said as he adjusted the seat and mirrors. "Thought you said you'd be busy today."
"I was. Finished early." He backed out of the spot smoothly. "Some friends are having a thing at my place tonight. I'd like you to come. Hence why I'm here, and we're here."
A thing. At his place. The anticipation curdled into immediate, sharp dread. "No. No, no, no," I said, my hand flying to the door handle. "Elio, turn around. Take me back."
His large hand closed over my wrist, not harshly, but with an immovable firmness. "Zara. Please." His voice was low, a rumble in the quiet car. "I'll be right there. The whole time. I'll make it up to you." When I didn't relent, he added, his tone dropping to something almost coaxing, "See it as an opportunity. You'll finally know where I live."
That did it. The curiosity was a hook in my gut. I wanted to see his world, the private space behind the king's mask. I nodded, a tight, reluctant movement. "Fine. But you owe me. Big time."
We drove in a comfortable silence, the city lights streaking past the windows. The tension from my initial refusal slowly dissipated, replaced by a nervous curiosity. He reached over and turned my music up a little, a silent acknowledgment.
Then we made a turn, and my breath caught.
The house—no, the mansion—didn't look like it belonged anywhere near a university. It was a monument of modern austerity set back behind imposing black iron gates. Sharp angles of concrete and dark glass reflected the twilight sky, offering no welcome, only a cold, impressive stare. It was massive, intimidating, and utterly silent from the outside.
"This… this is where you live?" My voice was barely a whisper. The anxiety came rushing back, a cold tide.
He placed a warm, steadying hand on my shoulder. "Yeah. Me and some others." He said it so casually, as if everyone shared a minimalist fortress.
"O-okay," I stammered, my throat tight. "I guess… let's go."
He drove through the opening gates, up a long, sleek driveway. As we got closer, I could see the faint pulse of colored light behind the floor-to-ceiling windows and hear the distant, muffled boom of bass. My stomach dropped.
We got out, and the cold air bit at my exposed face. Elio was instantly at my side, his hand finding the small of my back, a grounding point of contact. "Just stay close to me," he murmured, his breath a warm cloud in the air.
He pushed the heavy front door open, and the full force of the party hit us—a wall of sound, heat, and the sweet-sour smell of alcohol and perfume. The space was a vast open-plan living area, all dark stone and low leather furniture, now packed with at least thirty or forty people. They lounged, laughed, danced in small groups. I recognized faces from campus—the beautiful, the wealthy, the strategically connected.
I turned to him, my voice flat. "This is your idea of 'some friends' and a 'little get-together'?"
He had the decency to look chastised, a flicker of guilt in his dark eyes. "I swear, I thought it would be smaller. Come on, let's go upstairs. My room's quiet."
He began guiding me through the throng, his body subtly shielding mine from the crowd. We were almost to a floating staircase when a hand shot out and grabbed my arm.
"Oh, my! Look who we have here!" Juniper's voice was loud, sugary, and laced with a surprise she couldn't hide. Her eyes darted from me to Elio, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows climbing. "Zara and Elio? What a duo."
Elio's demeanor changed instantly. The slight softness he'd had with me vanished, replaced by an icy impatience. "Move, Juniper." It wasn't a request. It was a command, low and devoid of all warmth.
He tried to step around her, but another figure sidled up, blocking our path.
Reuben.
My dislike for him was immediate and solid, forged in two distinctly unpleasant encounters I had no desire to relive. Now, his coppery hair was a bright, annoying beacon under the party lights. "There you are, man," he said, his gaze doing its familiar, dismissive slide over me before landing on Elio. "Cas has been looking for you. Wants you in the back. At the shed. Now."
The name 'Cas' landed between us with weight. Elio's jaw tightened. He glanced from Reuben to me, conflict flashing in his eyes. He was being summoned, and by the tone, it wasn't optional.
Without a word to Reuben, Elio's hand closed firmly around mine. He changed course, steering us away from the stairs and back through the crowd, but this time toward a set of glass doors that led to the dark expanse of the backyard. "Come on," he muttered, more to himself than to me.
He led me across a cold, manicured lawn, the bass from the house becoming a distant throb. Ahead, I could make out the shape of a small, detached structure—a sleek, modern shed made of the same dark wood and glass as the main house. A single, stark light shone above its door.
"Wait here," Elio said, stopping me a few feet from the entrance. His voice was tight. He gestured to a lone patio chair tucked against the side of the shed, out of the direct light. "Sit. Do not move. I need to settle something. Two minutes."
The 'don't move' directive was getting old, but the graveness in his tone was new. This wasn't just about keeping me close; it was about keeping me out of sight. I sank into the cold metal chair, pulling my coat tighter around me. He gave my shoulder a quick, hard squeeze, then turned and disappeared inside the shed, closing the door firmly behind him.
Silence, thick and cold, descended. The chair was positioned in shadow, facing away from the house, looking out into the deep, dark void of the property. I was completely alone, tucked away like a secret. I hugged my knees to my chest, watching my breath make ghostly plumes in the air. Two minutes. He said two minutes.
The scent hit me first. That expensive, sharp cologne—Oud and something metallic—undercut now with the sweet, smoky depth of bourbon.
Then the voice, a smooth, dark ribbon weaving through the frozen air from directly behind my chair. Too close. He must have approached from the deep shadows of the garden, a path invisible to me.
"Glow."
Every muscle in my body locked. The world narrowed to the sound of his voice and the frantic, trapped-animal hammering of my own heart. I didn't need to turn. I knew who it was. I knew exactly from which shadow he'd emerged. The one I'd been desperately hoping was just a figment of last night's terror.
Could this night get any worse?
Slowly, against every screaming instinct that told me to run, to freeze, to scream for Elio who was just feet away through a door, I turned my head.
Soren stood barely an arm's length away, having materialized from the blackness like smoke. He was all in black, a perfect extension of the night. His icy blue eyes glinted, catching the faint spill of light from the shed, fixed on me with a possessive, predatory focus that stripped away all my layers of wool and knit. A slow, wicked smile touched his lips, a silent mockery of my isolation.
"Found you," he purred, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying perfectly in the stillness. "You're not very good at following directions, are you? He said not to move… but you moved just enough." He took a single, deliberate step closer, closing the last bit of distance between us and the void at my back. "Perfect."