Page 48 of Ashen Souls

My center of balance vanished. The edge of the desk and the dark spines of the books blurred together as I pitched forward.

Hale moved faster than my own reflexes.

His hand clamped firmly around my arm, arresting my fall before I could even brace for impact. An instant later, his other hand found my waist, anchoring me in place with an unyielding grip.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word vibrating close enough to stir the air near my temple.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

The sting in my ribs was eclipsed by a different kind of jolt. I was suddenly aware of the heat of his palm bleeding through my thick sweater. The scent of cedar and dark coffee enveloped me, no longer just lingering in the room, but pressed directly into my personal space.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone dropping its academic detachment for genuine concern.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, though the words came out thin and unconvincing.

“How badly were you injured?”

I let out a breath that was almost a laugh.

“Well. I nearly died in a car accident,” I said, forcing a faint smile. “So nothing dramatic. My ribs are just… still negotiating with me about it.”

His eyes locked onto my face, parsing my expression with an intensity that stripped away my weak attempt at a joke.

The strength in his fingers was a blunt reminder of the man beneath the button-down, a presence so total it seemed to crowd out every other thought in my head.

A muscle in his jaw flexed. He broke the contact and retreated, allowing the professional chasm to open back up between us.

“You should sit,” he instructed.

“I’m fine.”

“Humor me.”

His regard remained unwavering as he extended the book he had originally pulled from the shelf.

“Try this translation.” He slipped back into the detached rhythm of a professor. “It handles the ambiguity of the Greek better than most.”

As I took it, our fingers brushed over the spine. The contact was fleeting, but the touch of his knuckles against mine left an electric heat on my skin as I stepped back to a measured distance.

“Thank you,” I managed, clutching the book to my chest.

Hale tilted his head, studying me with a piercing clarity.

“I have to ask, Ms. Hart. Did we cross paths before yesterday’s lecture? I can’t shake the feeling that I know you from somewhere.”

There it is.

Should I tell him? The air in his office was already thick, and I had no desire to make this dynamic any more awkward than it already was. But he was waiting for the answer, leaving no room for evasion.

“Well.” I cleared my throat and forced myself to meet his gaze. “Maybe. You found me down by the river a little over a week ago.”

He went rigid. The casual, relaxed grace he wore like a second skin disappeared as tension coiled through him.

“The weeping willow,” he murmured. “You were the girl who passed out.”

I offered a tight smile, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. “Yeah. That was me,” I said, trying to wave it off as if it were nothing. “Just me being reckless.”