Page 133 of Ashen Souls

“I don’t dress like that.”

“You absolutely do,” she called back. “You just do it in a tasteful way.”

I pulled on the sweater and tried to ignore how nervous I was at the thought of walking into that lecture hall again. Of feeling his eyes find mine. Of testing whether the sadness Harper had described would still be there once he saw me.

Harper returned carrying two mugs, one held out like an offering.

“Drink.” She shoved the cup into my hands. “Then we go.”

I took the mug. The coffee was too hot, too strong, and the scalding slide of it down my throat jolted me awake.

Harper took a sip from her own mug and examined me over the rim like a hawk.

“What’s the plan?”

“The plan,” I repeated, “is to attend lecture.”

“And?” she prompted.

“And… nothing.”

Harper’s eyes narrowed. “Aveline.”

“I’m not going to…” I stopped myself. Ethan’s usual pattern was one step forward, two steps back. But after showing up at my apartment in the middle of the night? He might finally break his own rules. And despite Harper’s logic, the fear of putting him in Daeren's crosshairs hadn't faded at all.

Harper watched me struggle with the thought, then sighed. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll call it ‘attending lecture.’ But if you so much as breathe in his direction like you’re about to confess anything, I am going to remind you that your last emotional attachment almost unlocked a demon king.”

I looked down at my wrist. The sigil had remained dormant for so long that I was starting to let myself believe Harper was right, that the connection was fraying.

“I’m not going to confess anything,” I said, and I meant it. I had already learned the hard way what happened when I gave away too much.

Harper lifted her mug in salute. “Good. I’d hate to have to tackle you in front of half the literature department.”

Harper practically marched me through the rest of our morning routine. Any time I stared blankly at the wall for more than three seconds, she deployed a pointed sigh or a harsh critique of my hair to snap me out of it.

“You look fine.” She stepped back to assess me. “Not ‘I am thriving’ fine, but ‘I have not been fully devoured by eldritch romance’ fine.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, grabbing her bag. “Now let’s go, before you start writing poetry about his jawline.”

“I’m going to push you down the stairs.”

“You won’t.” She opened the door. “You need me alive in case your wrist starts glowing and you need someone to distract the professor with small talk while you escape.”

I followed her into the hallway, locking the apartment behind us. Outside, Vesbridge looked deceptively gentle in the morning light. The university loomed at the end of our walk, its stone façade catching the pale sun, ivy curled like a patient organism along the walls.

Harper bumped her shoulder against mine as we crossed the courtyard. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“You’re breathing like you’re about to walk into a trial,” she said. “Which, honestly, you are. Academic trial. Emotional trial. Demonic trial if Tuesday decides to be rude.”

I gave her a sharp look, but she only smiled.

“Now.” She squared her shoulders as we stepped toward the lecture hall. “Let’s go watch your professor pretend he hasn’t been emotionally spiraling for twenty-four hours because his favorite student decided to become a missing person.”

I dropped my head forward with a quiet groan.