Chapter 3 3

I sat cross-legged at my desk, my textbook open, pen in hand, highlighter poised like I was about to strike... but the words refused to stick.

The same sentence had been glaring up at me for the past ten minutes, and I couldn't remember a single thing it said. I underlined it twice just to pretend I was doing something productive, but my mind kept looping back to the field.

The sound of the whistle.

The applause.

The way Damian's smile had shifted, glowing for her instead of me.

I shook my head, dragging my eyes back to the page. Midterms. You need to focus on midterms, Autumn. That's what matters. Not... I stopped myself from even thinking her name.

But my chest tightened anyway, the image replaying like a movie I never asked to watch.

Marianne.

The way he'd run to her.

The way he'd tucked her hair behind her ear.

My pen scratched a meaningless doodle in the margin before I sighed and tossed it onto the desk. Who was I kidding? I wasn't going to get any studying done tonight. My brain was a mess, and no amount of willpower could glue the pieces together.

I reached for my phone, thumb hovering over the screen before I lit it up.

No new notifications.

No call from Damian.

Not even a text asking where I went.

I told myself it didn't matter, that maybe he got caught up talking to his teammates, or maybe his phone had died, or maybe, maybe, maybe...

But the truth sat heavy in my chest. If he'd wanted to reach out, he would have.

A slow ache began to build behind my eyes, and I didn't even notice my vision blurring until I blinked and felt the sting. My throat tightened. Don't cry, I told myself. Don't you dare.

I dragged in a breath, forcing my gaze away from the phone, but it only landed on the open textbook again, the pages warping slightly under the glow of my desk lamp. I tried to focus, but my eyes were stubborn. They kept pulling me back to the darkness behind the glass window beside my desk.

That's when I heard it.

A soft tap.

My head snapped up, heart stuttering in my chest.

Another tap. Louder this time.

I leaned slightly forward, squinting into the night, and before I could even process what I was seeing, something, or rather, someone,shifted into view.

"Damian?" My voice came out half-startled, half-confused.

And then his head appeared, grinning like he hadn't just scared the life out of me, before he swung his legs over the sill and rolled onto my floor with all the grace of a sack of flour.

I blinked. "You could have just... used the door, you know."

He brushed himself off, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. "Where's the fun in that?"

Despite myself, my mouth twitched.

Then his gaze sharpened on me, tilting his head slightly. "Were you crying?"

The question hit me like a jolt. My back stiffened, and I immediately waved a hand, shaking my head. "No. Something just... got into my eye."

His brows knitted. "Uh-huh. And where are your glasses?"

I rolled my eyes and looked away. "Over there." I gestured vaguely toward my nightstand.

He muttered something under his breath about me being hopeless, and before I could ask what that was supposed to mean, he stepped closer.

"Here, let me see."

I hesitated, but he was already reaching for me, his touch impossibly gentle as he tilted my chin upward.

The world narrowed.

His eyes were closer than I was prepared for, his dark lashes framing them in a way that made it hard to think. My heart thumped louder, and I prayed he couldn't hear it. I stared somewhere near his collarbone, afraid that if I looked at him fully, he'd see every thought racing through my head.

"Hold still," he murmured, leaning in just slightly, the faint scent of soap and grass clinging to him.

I could feel the warmth of his breath, and despite myself, my gaze flicked upward.

Big mistake.

Because then I was caught.

His eyes, sharp and searching, met mine, and something fluttered low in my stomach, something warm and dangerous. My gaze dipped before I could stop it, lingering on his lips.

And then...

He stuck his tongue out at me.

I blinked, startled, as he leaned back with a teasing grin. "What? You think I'm that caring? Please. You're not that special, Autumn."

The tension that had been coiling between us shattered, replaced by an awkward laugh I forced out just to hide the heat in my cheeks. "Right. Silly me."

He chuckled, wandering over to my desk like nothing had happened. My heart was still racing, but he didn't seem to notice, or maybe he did, and just didn't care.

He turned toward me suddenly. "So... got any more of those cookies?"

I blinked. "Cookies?"

"The ones you brought earlier," he said, leaning casually against the desk. "They were good."

My chest warmed at the thought that maybe he had remembered. Maybe this was his way of... I don't know... making it up to me without saying it outright.

I nodded quickly. "Yeah, I have more. I'll go grab them."

I slipped past him, suddenly light on my feet. As I padded down the stairs, I could feel a faint smile tugging at my lips.

Mom was in the living room, curled up with her book, but she glanced up when I hurried by, towards the kitchen.

"Back to your happy mood, I see," she said with a small smile.

I felt my cheeks warm, but I didn't answer, just rummaged for the container on the counter and grabbed a fresh batch.

For a moment, I let myself imagine him waiting in my room, leaning against the wall with that lazy grin, maybe pretending to be impatient just for the drama of it.

I balanced the container in one hand, pushing my door open with the other.

"Here..."

The words died in my throat.

The room was empty.

No Damian leaning against the wall.

No window half-open.

Just stillness.

I stepped inside slowly, the weight of the cookies in my hands suddenly too heavy. My eyes darted to the window, iwas closed, the latch in place like it had never been touched.

The smile that had been blooming on my face slipped away, leaving something colder in its place.

I set the cookies down on the desk, my fingers lingering on the lid before I straightened and scanned the room again.

"Damian?" I called softly, half-expecting him to pop out from behind the door, laughing like this was some kind of prank.

Silence.

I wasn't even away for that long but he's always gone.

My pulse quickened, and I swallowed, turning toward the window one more time.

That's when I noticed it, barely there, but enough to make my breath catch.

A single folded scrap of paper on the windowsill.

I stared at it, my fingers twitching toward it, the air in the room suddenly too still.

He'd left something.