Then he steps past me.
Just like that.
The space where he stood feels suddenly empty, the air thinner, the noise of the hallway rushing back in too loud, too fast. Students move around me, laughing, talking, living their lives.
I turn, searching for him.
He’s gone.
And I’m left standing there with my papers clutched to my chest, pulse racing, instincts screaming, one terrifying thought echoing in my head:He knew my name.
I tell myself he’s nothing. Just another academic. A consultant, maybe. Someone visiting campus. He looks scholarly enough, and the way he reacts to my research—calling it brilliant—means he clearly knows a thing or two.
That has to be it.
Still.
My God.
What an attractive man.
I step out of the criminology building and realize I’m still thinking about him. I’ve never seen him before. And the thought hits me suddenly, sharply.
What if I never see him again?
The idea shouldn’t bother me.
It does.
Before I know it, I’m unlocking the door to my apartment, which is just off campus. I usually take a cab home because the walk feels long, especially after a full day. But somehow I’ve trekked the distance without noticing a single step.
I don’t remember the walk at all.
All because I’m thinking about a stranger I’ll likely never meet again.
The apartment smells like strawberry sugar and cinnamon the moment I step inside. I breathe it in deeply, grounding myself, then drop my bag and report onto the couch before heading toward the kitchen.
It’s a two-bedroom apartment I share with Ellie Carver—my best friend.
Ellie is the sweetest girl alive. Sometimes I worry the world will take advantage of that. We’re polar opposites, which is probably why we work so well together. She’s warm, sunlit, and gentle, with long honey-blonde hair and kind brown eyes. She wears soft sweaters and floral sundresses and keeps her notebooks color-coded.
I don’t care for any of that.
But I love her. So much.
I wouldn’t have survived this program without her. While I’m obsessed with finding my father and keeping his legacy alive, Ellie is my quiet strength—the one who brings me soup, reminds me to sleep, and writes me two-page reminders before exams.
I find her in the kitchen, decorating cookies, completely absorbed.
Before she notices me, I walk over and lean into her with a groan.
“Elliiie,” I groan, resting my forehead against her shoulder.
She laughs softly and glances sideways at me. “What? Professor Kieran bothering you again?”
I straighten and step away, rolling my eyes. “He’s too soft. As usual.” I pause, frowning. “But that’s not it.”
Ellie sets the cookie down and turns fully toward me now. “Okay,” she says gently. “Then what is it?”