I get to my flat and strip off my clothes, then I stand in the shower until the water runs cold.
It doesn't help.
I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, my mind running through every detail: the scar on her hand, the way she moved, the challenge in her eyes.
Off limits, Pyro said.
I know that. I've always known that.
Doesn't stop me from wanting.
Didn’t stop the territorial instinct that kicked in the second she walked through that door.
I close my eyes and force myself to think about something else—anything else.
It doesn't work.
Monday morning, I'm outside Trinity at seven-thirty. I'm on my bike across the street, where I can see the main entrance to the science building.
I don't need to be here. Pyro said to keep an eye on her; he didn't say I had to follow her to campus.
But here I am anyway.
She shows up at eight, walking from the bus stop with a bag over her shoulder and a coffee in her hand. She's wearing jeans and a sweater. Her hair's down today, falling to just past her shoulders.
I watch her go inside and then I wait.
I tell myself I'm just making sure she got here safely—that's all this is.
I'm lying.
At noon, she comes out with another girl—blonde, shorter, laughing at something Everly said—and they walk to a café down the street. I follow at a distance, staying on my bike, where I can see them through the window.
They order food and sit at a table near the back, Everly facing the door.
Smart.
I should leave, should get back to the clubhouse. There's work to do.
But I don't move.
Twenty minutes later, a guy approaches their table—tall, early twenties, confident. He says something to Everly, and she looks up at him.
My hands tighten on the handlebars.
She shakes her head and the guy laughs, then he touches her shoulder.
I'm off my bike before I think about it, my vision narrowing down to that hand on her shoulder, to the way she's leaning back slightly.
I'm halfway across the street when she stands and says something sharp. The guy backs off with his hands up, and Everly sits back down.
I stop on the sidewalk.
She handled it. She didn't need me.
But my heart's still pounding and my hands are still clenched into fists.
I force myself to breathe and then I get back on my bike.