Chapter Forty-One
My girl.” Andrew’s words echoed in her mind as they made their way back to her apartment, where they had decided to share an evening meal.
The snow crunched under their footsteps, and Isla’s thoughts swirled.
Things with Andrew had moved quickly, but it felt natural—unexpected, yet right.
The passages in his journal had shown her how deeply he valued her, how much he admired her mind as an equal.
Her gaze drifted to the Sigil mark on her arm, hidden beneath her watch. She was Fated. Was Andrew definitely her Fated partner, or was there someone else she was meant to be with? What if being with him meant missing the person she was truly destined for?
She looked at him again—dark hair, glasses speckled with snow, his slender frame walking beside her.
Not a large man in stature, but his presence was vast, his mind brilliant, his power in the Aetheric Arts undeniable.
She had resisted reading more of his journal, keeping her promise, yet fragments of his words lingered in her mind from previous conversations: “Sometimes I can sense memories through moisture. I can see the past lingering in the air—a reflective resonance ... My memories are not only of this life ... some connections, aren’t entirely new .
.. I’ve known them before—known people I care about before. ”
Could Andrew remember her from another life?
Were they absolutely Fated across multiple lifetimes as well as this one?
A few weeks ago, she would have run from such thoughts.
In the past, the idea of opening herself to someone had not been her cup of tea.
The thought of being in love—or of a Fated connection—would have thrown a spanner in her carefully curated plan to remain self-reliant, to need no one, to prove she belonged.
Now, her arm looped through his, she felt herself changing course, like a ship adjusting its sails.
She often made very specific life plans, and new ideas could feel like rocks scraping along the hull, pushing her off course—but sometimes, with a brave turn, a ship could find a far better harbor.
Andrew didn’t seek to steer her or suppress her.
His recent journal entries showed he wanted her to thrive, to grow, to embrace her strength.
She could be independent—and still have someone cheering her on.
She studied his face again. She didn’t know if they were Fated Aetherians—but she could admit she hoped they were.
“You’re thinking awfully hard about something over there, Professor,” Andrew said as he pushed open the apartment door. The old wooden door groaned on its hinges, its paint peeling at the edges, and the small frosted window set into it cast a soft, pale light across the stone threshold.
Isla flushed, grateful that he couldn’t read her thoughts or emotions. He might not be thinking of her on such a deep level at all. What if she had misread him or he changed his mind? How she wished she could just read all his journal entries at once.
“I’m thinking about shepherd’s pie ... shepherd’s pie sounds absolutely delightful this evening, don’t you think?” she said, trying to sound casual.
Andrew’s blue eyes sparkled down at her as he stood on the first step, disbelief flickering across his face. “Uh-huh.”
They climbed the narrow staircase together, bumping shoulders as they laughed over the antics of one of his students. Isla’s laughter rang out, light and carefree, echoing off the old walls.
“Seriously, he wrote, ‘If the trajectory of a paper airplane does not account for wind speed and direction, it may inadvertently crash into the nearest unsuspecting colleague’s tea.’”
Lifting out her key, Isla unlocked the door to her apartment.
“Sometimes, being a professor can show you a whole spectrum of minds and personalities that you could never predict,” she replied, shaking her head with a smile.
Pushing the door wide, she felt the smile fall from her face. The room was in chaos—drawers yanked open, papers scattered across the floor, her belongings tossed. The warm, cozy evening Isla had anticipated vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a sharp, chilling sense of danger.
Isla felt Andrew’s hands at her waist as he pulled her back, closing the door behind them with a firm click. A faint shimmer of Aetheric energy danced along the edges of the lock and hinges, the metal glinting momentarily before freezing in place.
“If they’re still in there, they won’t be able to follow us,” he said, his grip on her hand steady as he guided her down the hall.
With a swift motion, he lifted his free hand and his palm glowed white as a swirling mist formed, glistening. He threw it over his shoulder. Isla turned as it shot forward down the corridor like a living ribbon, moving fast.
“What’s the mist for?” Isla asked, her voice tight with both curiosity and lingering fear.
Andrew glanced at her, the intensity of his thoughts flickering across his expression. “Oh, it’s a signal,” he said. “Edmund and I agreed on it. It will race around campus and find him, sending an SOS message to meet us at my apartment.”
“You guys have a secret code?”
“Well ...” A faint smile tugged at his lips, though his eyes stayed sharp, scanning the hallway. “We thought it would be a good idea if we could communicate from a distance, in case any of us needed backup.”
“Do Juliette and George know about this?”
“They do.”
“Why didn’t I know about it?”
He stopped, turning to face her. He looked worried at the thought of leaving her out.
“It’s my fault. We thought of it before you had worked out your powers, and then I just forgot to update you.
Sorry, Isla. Though ... I definitely think you and I should have a secret code.
” He now looked a little flirtatious. She gave him a small smile.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face and pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to her forehead. Then he turned, his brisk pace hard to keep up with in heels even though she was a fraction taller than him when she wore them. He walked just a step ahead, checking corners and glancing behind them.
Mrs. Harris appeared at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips like a general, blocking their path with surprising speed for someone her age.
“Not so fast, young man. No ladies on this floor—” Her eyes narrowed, then softened as recognition settled in. “Ah, it’s you two.”
Her sharp gaze flicked between them. “Something tells me this isn’t a social visit,” she said, studying Isla closely.
“There’s been a break-in to Isla’s room,” Andrew explained quickly.
Mrs. Harris’s face paled. “How did they get in without me noticing?” she asked, clearly mortified. “I’ve made a right pickle of things for you, letting that happen!”
“It’s not your fault. Don’t go up there. I’ve locked them in, if they’re still there. The detective will be with us shortly.”
Mrs. Harris nodded firmly. “Right then. I’ll have Mr. Harris keep watch while I go and tell the Vice Chancellor.”
Andrew bent down and placed a quick kiss on her wrinkled cheek.
“Thank you. You’re a gem, Mrs. Harris.”
“Away with you now,” she said, though Isla could see the faint trace of a smile tug at her lips. “I’ve got enough on my plate just trying to hush the gossips about you two.”
Andrew chuckled.
“Bah, don’t get above yourself, lad,” she replied, shaking her head. “Just keep out of trouble.”
They entered Andrew’s apartment, and he locked the door behind them. He lifted her heavy bag from her shoulder, placing it on the table before pulling her close.
“I’m sorry about your apartment, Isla,” he murmured.
She shivered. The violation of her personal space felt unsettling. Andrew held her tighter, rubbing her lower back slowly.
“For a moment, I hoped they might have moved on. I’d hoped they had figured out that I don’t know anything about Ray’s work and they’d given up—knowing they can’t recruit me,” she said softly. “Things were calmer for a while.”
“I know, darling. I’d hoped that too.”
A sharp knock at the door made her start. Andrew released her just enough to move toward the door, opening it cautiously at first, then fully, as Edmund and Juliette stepped inside, looking worried.
“We got your signal,” Edmund said, his tone brisk.
“We were both in the library,” Juliette added, eyes taking in Isla, checking she was unharmed. “George went to inform Harold.”
“Mrs. Harris will be disappointed she didn’t get to tell him first.”
“What happened?” Edmund asked, seeking answers.
Isla glanced between them. Edmund’s stoic, detective-like composure contrasted sharply with Juliette’s barely contained energy.
“My apartment ... someone broke in.” Isla’s voice trembled slightly, though she tried to keep it steady.
“Did you see who it was?” Edmund asked.
“No,” Andrew replied. “I sealed the door with ice and sent a signal for you. I didn’t know if anyone was still inside—or how many there might have been.”
“Okay, I’m going to check it out. You three wait here.”
“I’ll come too,” Juliette said immediately.
“No, I don’t think so,” Edmund replied sharply.
“I don’t think you should go alone, Edmund,” Andrew said. “But I don’t want to leave Isla.”
Isla sighed. “Why don’t we all go?”
Andrew looked as if he wanted to protest, just as Edmund had, but Isla’s raised eyebrow stopped him. He gave her a resigned nod.
As the four of them approached her apartment door, Isla felt her stomach twist. Shepherd’s pie suddenly seemed far less appealing. Someone had broken in—what if she had been home?
Andrew released his icy lock on the door, and Edmund placed his large hand on the doorknob.
A faint flash of lightning danced across the knuckles of his free hand, ready to strike.
He eased the door open, tilting his head to listen.
His broad frame blocked Juliette’s view as she tried to peek around him.
Satisfied it was clear, he stepped fully inside.
He swept the room with sharp eyes before checking behind curtains. Then he moved into her bedroom. She heard the faint creak of her wardrobe door opening and closing. When he emerged, the glint of electricity had vanished from his hand.
Isla looked around at the chaos—lecture notes and books scattered across the floor.
“I don’t know what they were after,” she murmured, her voice small. “I don’t own anything of value.”
Edmund crouched to examine a stack of papers, frowning. “It looks like they were after something you’ve researched,” he said carefully.
“But why?” Isla’s brow furrowed. “Everything here is already in public journals. Nothing here is a secret.”
“What have you been working on?”
“I’ve been focusing on improving crop yields. Everything I’m currently working on is in my satchel.”
“And where is your bag now?” Edmund asked, his tone calm but purposeful, like a soldier assessing a situation—every question aimed at understanding and keeping her safe.
“I left it at Andrew’s place.”
Edmund nodded. Andrew came up beside her and put his hand around her waist.
“Okay,” Edmund said, glancing between them.
“We need to go and look at your bag—of course, only with your permission, Isla.” She nodded, though she didn’t see why it would be necessary.
“But before we do, I suggest both of you”—he indicated Isla and Juliette—“pack an overnight bag and stay at Andrew’s. Do you have a guest bedroom, Andrew?”
“No,” Andrew replied, shrugging, “but the ladies can take the room. I’ll manage on the couch.”
Isla opened her mouth to protest—she didn’t want to kick him out of his bed—but Juliette cut in with a gleeful grin.
“Oh, a sleepover! How exciting. But why do I need to go? I mean, I want to go,” she added, “and I probably should go”—she continued glancing at Isla—“to be a chaperone,” she said, looking meaningfully at Andrew’s hand still resting on Isla’s waist. Isla felt her cheeks heat.
“But why did you suggest it? I’m sure it wasn’t because of pillow-fight possibilities or keeping these two apart. ”
Isla glared at her friend, who only smiled wider.
“You live next door to where the break-in happened,” Edmund said evenly. “It’s safer if you’re not too close to the scene.”
Juliette tilted her head, teasing. “Ah, Detective Edmund, are you worried about me?”
He didn’t react to the tease. “I’m making sure no one gets hurt.”
Juliette smirked, undeterred. “I confess, the first day we met, you were both impressive and scary. You intimidated me a little when you said I was your first suspect. But look at the progress we’ve made.”
Edmund’s gaze remained steady and unreadable. “Progress in the case has happened,” he said simply, obviously not willing to acknowledge they had made any progress as two people. He was already moving toward the door.
Out in the hall, Isla shouldered a bag of clothes while Andrew carried Darwin’s small tank. The water sloshed gently from side to side as Andrew used his powers to keep it steady. The little fish swam in calm circles, occasionally eyeing Andrew as if judging him for being relocated.
“Why is the fish coming?” Edmund asked as they walked.
“I couldn’t leave Darwin; if the intruders came back, they might be mean to him. They could freeze his tank to spite me.” She shuddered at the memory of her day in the pool.
Andrew gave her a look of understanding; Edmund stayed quiet. Both wise responses.