Page 140 of Ashen Souls

Harper: He will. If he doesn’t, I’m bringing a bat tomorrow.

Despite everything, I smiled.

Me: Please don’t assault my professor.

Harper: You say that now.

The apartment was unnervingly quiet without Harper’s usual chaos. The second the deadbolt clicked shut, the only sound left was the mechanical hum of the refrigerator. It was my first night alone here since my escape.

I dumped my bag on the kitchen counter and stared at my phone.

Still blank.

A wave of nausea hit me at the thought of him sitting in his office, already boxing the kiss away as a regrettable mistake.

I threw the phone onto the couch and forced myself to sit at the coffee table. Daeren. The curse. The sigil. I had a demonic chain to sever. I didn't have time to obsess over a man who had apparently decided to ghost me.

I pulled the leather journal closer and opened it to the pages on soul-binding, glaring at the dense, faded ink for ten solid minutes.

I didn't absorb a single word.

I shoved the book away with a frustrated sigh. It was useless. The apocalyptic threat of an immortal demon was currently losing a mental battle against the memory of a professor in a rumpled shirt. I couldn't summon the chilling image of Daeren's throne if I tried, but my brain had no problem replaying the precise weight of Ethan’s hands on my waist.

The phone remained face down on the cushion where I’d thrown it. I was pathetic, letting a silent piece of glass completely paralyze me.

The rest of the evening was a masterclass in wasted time. I went through the mechanics of a normal night: eating cold toast over the sink, standing in the shower until the water turned lukewarm, but my brain refused to leave that hall. It was infuriating how easily his silence dismantled me.

By the time I pulled on a worn T-shirt and sleep shorts, I was thoroughly exhausted by my own company. I pressed my thumb against the sigil on my wrist, almost wishing for a spark just to give me something else to worry about.

But the mark stayed dormant.

I crossed the living room toward the bedroom, switching off the last lamp.

Just as I reached the doorway, the doorbell rang.

I flinched at the sudden noise.

Harper.

Maybe her shift had ended early, or maybe she had decided I shouldn’t be alone. But as I walked toward the hallway, I frowned. She had her own keys. Why would she ring?

She probably left them at the dorm, I thought, reaching for the lock.

I threw the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

It wasn't Harper.

Ethan stood in the hallway.

He looked exhausted under the harsh fluorescent light of the corridor. His coat was heavy with rain across the shoulders, his hair damp and disordered.

For a long second, neither of us spoke.

His gaze flicked over me. “I hope I’m not too late.”

The exhausting paranoia I had been carrying all evening evaporated.

He didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped across the threshold, forcing me to step back as he pushed the door shut behind him.