Chapter 14 - Sebastian #3
That stops her. Not entirely, but enough for the fight in her posture to waver.
For a moment she says nothing. Her chest rises and falls in short, uneven breaths. Her hands flex on her knees. She’s listening even if she doesn’t want to.
“Then why did you do it?” she asks quietly, and it’s not anger that fills the space between each word, it’s fear.
I drag a hand along the back of my neck, searching for footing in a conversation that has none.
“Because…”
The word stalls.
Not because I don’t know the ending, but because saying it aloud feels like lighting a fuse I can’t extinguish.
“Some part of me could not stop,” I finish, my voice low, unsteady. “And I’m trying to understand why.”
The room goes still.
She stares at me like she’s trying to decode something impossible, like she’s afraid of the answer and equally afraid it might not exist. Her throat works around a swallow, the sound barely audible in the tight, quiet space of my room.
A long moment passes before she finally speaks.
“What do you want me to say to that?” she whispers, not confrontational now but exhausted, like she’s been carrying the weight of too many truths alone.
“Nothing,” I say, the word heavier than I intend. I move one step closer, not touching, but near enough she feels the shift. “Just… let me try to fix this.”
Her breath hitches.
Her shoulders tense.
Something shifts in her expression, not forgiveness, not softness, but a gathering force, like all the exhaustion etched into her bones is reshaping itself into something sharper, something that refuses to stay small.
Harper stands abruptly, the mattress dipping beneath her weight before settling again.
For a moment she just looks at me, jaw tight, breath uneven, as though deciding what part of herself she’s willing to risk.
Then she steps closer.
Not tentatively. Not cautiously. With purpose.
Her fingers catch my sleeve, and before I register what she intends, she pulls, forcing me upright, forcing me to face her. The movement is so sudden my balance shifts, and I’m left standing only inches from her, the warmth of her breath threading into mine.
“See,” she says, voice trembling with something that isn’t anger anymore but something far more dangerous. She takes another step, erasing what little distance remains between us. “See how easily you can control-”
The sentence collapses into silence.
Because we’re close now.
Close enough that I can see the faint freckle near her left eye.
Close enough that her hair brushes my collar.
Close enough that our noses nearly touch.
Her breath stops altogether, and mine follows.
Her eyes widen, not in fear, but in realization, at the proximity, at the heat humming beneath the surface, at the way we’ve fallen back into a gravity we pretend not to understand.
My hands hover uselessly at my sides, fighting the instinct to reach for her.
Every heartbeat feels louder than the rain outside, echoing in the space between us that is barely a hand’s width wide.
Then she looks down.
Only a fraction, just enough to see what I already feel, a tug at the front of my shirt. Her fingers are curled there, trembling, holding me as though she had meant to shove me back yet somehow pulled me closer instead. The sight knocks the breath from my lungs.
“I didn’t-” she starts, voice breaking apart.
“I know,” I say, cutting in before she can retreat into apology or fear or whatever brittle shield she feels she needs in this moment.
Her head snaps up, eyes meeting mine with a sharpness that falters almost instantly.
“I know,” I repeat, taking the smallest step forward, not touching her, but close enough that her grip in my shirt tightens instead of loosening. “Trust me.”
The words are quiet, but they land with the weight of something neither of us is ready to name. She swallows, eyes flicking between my mouth and my eyes, as though deciding which part of me proves the larger threat.
Her fingers tighten in the fabric of my shirt, sharp, desperate, almost panicked, and the shift startles me enough that I glance down.
But before I can read her expression, her entire posture changes.
Her breath stutters, her eyes squeeze shut, and both of her hands fly to her temples as though something inside her skull has suddenly ignited.
“Harper?” The word leaves me before I can stop it. She doesn’t answer.
Her shoulders hunch inward, a soft gasp tearing from her throat. It’s not fear, at least not the ordinary kind. It’s something deeper, something that looks like she’s trying to brace herself against a wave only she can see.
Her body sways.
A flicker of violet pulses beneath her lashes.
A shiver runs through her entire frame.
But she still doesn’t speak.
My hand lifts on instinct, hovering near her arm, unsure whether touching her will steady her or break her further. She looks like she’s caught between moments, between worlds. Like something is pulling her mind into a place I cannot follow.
“Harper,” I repeat, softer this time, not knowing why my chest tightens the way it does. “Look at me.”
But she can’t.
Her breath comes in shallow stutters, her fingers digging into her scalp, her shoulders trembling as if she’s fighting something behind her eyes. And I realize, too late, that whatever happened in Anvaris, whatever flickered in her gaze when that bastard touched her… it’s happening again.
Before I can step closer, before I can steady her or pull her hands down or say something that might tether her back to the present-
“Harper!”
The shout cracks through the common room like a struck whip.
Both of us snap toward the sound.
Professor Locke stands in the doorway, rain-soaked cloak, jaw clenched, eyes blazing in a way I’ve never seen. His gaze rakes over her first, then flicks to me with a severity that sinks into my bones.
“Harper,” he barks again, voice tight with urgency, with fear, with something far heavier than reprimand. “Come here. Now.”
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy.
The moment shatters.