Page 49 of Ashen Souls

A flicker of genuine regret crossed his features. “I apologize. I should have recognized you sooner.”

“It’s fine. To be fair, I’m wearing significantly less river mud and a lot more makeup today. It's a solid disguise.”

But he didn't smile at the joke.

His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before rising back to my eyes, cutting right through my flimsy defense mechanism.

“I’m relieved to see you in one piece,” he said, and the polite detachment was gone from his voice now. “I thought about that afternoon long after you walked away. I wondered if I should have insisted on walking you home. If I should have done more.”

I shifted in the chair, deliberately puncturing the intimacy of his confession. “Honestly? I’m actually glad you didn’t.”

His brows drew together. “Oh?”

“You were a complete stranger in the middle of nowhere,” I pointed out. “For all I knew, you could have been some kind of creep. Or a serial killer.”

The tension in his shoulders snapped. A warm exhale broke from his chest, transforming the harsh lines of his expression into something disarming.

“A fair point.” One corner of his mouth refused to settle.

From there, he steered the dialogue back into the neutral territory of academia: sources, structural requirements, the usual details. But the safety was a thin veneer over the charge humming in the small office.

“Send me an outline when you’re ready.” His fingers corralled the scattered pages into a single block. “I’ll take a look. And if you need more sources, email me.”

I hesitated. “I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“You won’t be. Providing guidance is a fundamental part of the role.”

My heart was beating so hard against my throat that I feared the sound might actually fill the room.

I forced a breath, angling my body toward the exit. “Right. Well. I should let you get back to your work. I’ve imposed on your afternoon long enough.”

“You haven’t,” he replied.

Another lapse in the conversation followed.

“Good luck with your essay, Ms. Hart.”

The ache in my ribs dictated the pace at which I gathered my things. I stood, my exit less graceful than I would have liked under Hale’s gaze.

“I’ll try not to disappoint you, Professor.”

He watched me, as if he were translating me long after the book was closed.

“I doubt that will be a problem.”

When the oak door clicked shut behind me, I leaned back against the cool plaster of the wall, closing my eyes as I waited for my pulse to finally settle.

I couldn’t shake the residual imprint of his hand at my waist, or the realization of how easily I had let him hold me there.

He’s real, I reminded myself. Not a shadow in the corner of my bedroom. Not a monster leaving bruises in the dark. He was daylight and solid ground. Someone I could touch, if I dared.

I pushed off the wall, my footsteps echoing in the corridor.

Had he seen me as anything more than another student with too many questions and not enough answers? Or had I imagined the spark between us? Maybe it had been nothing and I was reading too much into a perfectly ordinary conversation.

Before my thoughts could spiral any further, I pulled out my phone.

I stared at the blank screen for a moment. I could tell her the truth about the riverbank. But the thought of Harper dissecting that fragile memory under a microscope felt like handing over an exposed nerve.