4. Chapter Four - Delicate Fear
As we walked through the empty halls, the rest of the world seemed to fall away until all I could hear was the steady rhythm of our footsteps and feel the presence of the man beside me.
The silence between us wasn’t awkward, but it carried a strange sensation through me.
It felt ridiculous, honestly, to be this affected by someone I barely knew.
My gaze drifted to the walls, tracing the geometric patterns carved into the stone, repeating in perfect symmetry. Everything about it felt hypnotic in its structure, a stark contrast to the disarray building in my own thoughts.
It wasn’t just attraction, either. Something about him unsettled me in a way I couldn’t fully explain, as though part of me was leaning toward him without permission. It left me uneasy, realizing how quickly my instincts shifted around him.
Still, I could feel the more outgoing part of me stirring, the side that built connections without overthinking every step. Sooner or later, this place would settle into something recognizable. I’d discover my rhythm and find people who fit into it.
Maybe Culver would be one of them.
The thought almost pulled a laugh from me because imagining us as something simple, friends or anything close to normal, felt completely wrong compared to how aware I was of him right now.
Class had already started. My first day, and I was late, but I didn’t really care. I told myself there had to be some leniency for being new, even though I knew I was mostly stalling, stretching this moment out because walking away from him felt harder than it should.
My attention shifted forward, settling on the back of his head.
Soft light traced along the pale curve of his skin, and I had to make an effort not to stare.
I thought about the way his gloved hand had brushed mine earlier, cool and solid, almost stone-like.
It hadn’t been unpleasant. In fact, I liked it.
Maybe it was just the weather messing with me… or maybe not.
I didn’t realize he had stopped until I walked straight into him.
A startled sound slipped out of me as I bounced back, the impact embarrassing in its suddenness.
He didn’t move at all. Not even slightly.
It was as though I had run into something carved instead of alive, and the thought sent unease flickering through me.
I stumbled backward, arms lifting instinctively, but he turned and caught me before I could lose my balance. His hand closed around my upper hip, firm and steady, pulling me in with a certainty that felt more instinctive than accidental.
A slow smile curved along his mouth, the sort that suggested he knew exactly what effect he had on me. I pressed my hands against his forearm, trying to steady myself, but it only made me more aware of him, of the solid muscle beneath my touch and how easily I seemed to fit there.
I was in trouble. Deep trouble.
“Is this going to become a habit, my little lamb?”
There it was again.
The nickname settled around me like something soft and binding all at once, both infuriating and impossible to ignore. I bit my lip and looked up at him, meeting those emerald eyes. Darker up close, with just a trace of amusement.
I tried to pull back, straightening with what dignity I could manage. “Don’t make fun of me.”
Because if he kept smiling at me like that, I was going to start making embarrassing life choices.
Before he could respond, the classroom door swung open.
An older man stood in the doorway, framed by at least twenty students behind him. Their attention followed his gaze straight to us… and to me, standing there far more flustered than I wanted to admit.
“Well, are you coming in?” the professor asked.
I probably looked ridiculous standing there like that, so I stepped away from Culver quickly, and this time he didn’t stop me.
“I—I’m sorry,” I blurted with heat in my cheeks. “He was just showing me to my class.”
The professor’s eyes narrowed slightly, skepticism settling into his expression. “Get in and find a seat.” Then his attention shifted to Culver, and his tone changed. Not softer, exactly, but more controlled. “As for you, Mr. Scarbrough, I do hope you’re settling in well.”
Culver’s demeanor shifted. The teasing edge disappeared, replaced by something steadier and heavier. “I am well enough,” he said calmly. “Though I find it peculiar that some students receive more favorable treatment than others. This is the second instance today, and I will not permit a third.”
His voice remained even, but something beneath it tightened the room. If I was reading him right, he was actually defending me over whatever had happened earlier. But he hadn’t even been there… so how did he know?
The professor stiffened, clearing his throat. “My apologies, Mr. Scarbrough. I’ll ensure all faculty are reminded to treat our students with equal courtesy.” His gaze returned to me. “And my apologies to you as well. Please, take any seat you like.”
The shift in tone came too quickly and too smoothly, reminding me uncomfortably of the woman at the front desk.
I moved toward the classroom, but Culver’s fingers brushed my wrist.
The cold settled against me instantly, biting and unnatural, as though his skin had been pressed against ice for far too long. Beneath it came the shock of electricity flying through me. I had never felt anything like it.
His eyes found mine, tired yet focused, pulling me back into his orbit.
He leaned in, close enough to make my breath catch, and said quietly, “I will be waiting for you after class, Ira.”
He didn’t lower his voice enough to keep it between us.
Jesus Christ.
Did he know how insane he sounded, or was this simply his natural state?
My face burned as a few students glanced over, curiosity flickering in their expressions. I ducked my head, exhaling in frustration. “Whatever,” I muttered as I hurried toward the nearest empty seat.
Even then, I could still feel his gaze on me.
And I didn’t want it to leave.
As I slid into my seat, I became painfully aware of how many eyes were still on me. Some were curious, some assessing, a few cautious, and others openly interested, as though I had been introduced without my permission and somehow shifted the atmosphere of the room just by being there.
This was not how my first day was supposed to go.
I smoothed my top and crossed one leg over the other, forcing myself into something composed even as my nerves buzzed beneath the surface.
There was no fading into the background now, not after everything that had just happened.
A couple of girls near the window were still watching me, giving me the sort of attention usually reserved for accidents or something sitting right on the edge of scandal.
The professor shut the door and moved to the front, his voice flattening into something steady and detached. “Right then. As I was saying, we’ll be splitting into groups of three today to begin the project.” His gaze landed on me. “And you are?”
I swallowed. “Ira Loshe.”
“Ira. Excellent. Your group will bring you up to speed. We had a pair in need of a third, so this works well. Everyone, into your groups.”
“Ah, thanks,” I said quietly.
Around me, the room shifted into motion. Voices rose, chairs scraped, people moved. The energy swelled and folded around me while I sat in the center of it, scanning for where I was supposed to go. I didn’t know what I expected, maybe someone easing their way over and offering a quiet invitation.
Instead, I heard confident footsteps approaching.
Two students stopped in front of me as though I were the missing piece they’d been searching for. Without hesitation, they slid into the seats beside me.
One was a girl, tall and slim, with refined features and eyes that swept over me with a mix of curiosity and quiet judgment.
Her uniform was immaculate, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail that gave nothing away.
Everything about her radiated polish. Dark slacks, a neatly tucked blouse, and subtle jewelry that looked as though it cost more than everything I’d packed combined.
The other was a guy with messy hair and a grin stretched wide across his face.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he dropped into his seat, shrugging off his backpack with no grace and way too much energy.
He was all elbows and movement, skinny in a loose, uncontained way.
Honestly, he looked barely old enough to be here, maybe not even old enough for high school.
For a second, I wondered if he was one of those genius kids who skipped grades to end up in places like this, but something about him didn’t fit that idea. His energy was too chaotic for it.
“What’s up?” he said brightly.
“Hey,” the girl added.
I suddenly felt underdressed next to her, and that was saying something. She looked as though she belonged in a corporate office instead of sitting in a classroom. She was gorgeous, and she knew it.
“So what’re we supposed to be doing here?” I asked, trying to gather some version of the confidence I’d left back in the U.S.
“Hm. We’ll tell you,” the girl began. “But first, why were you with Scarbrough?”
My brows pulled together.
Scarbrough. Not Culver.
Just like the professor had said.
There was something about the way they all used his last name that made him feel distant, almost untouchable. As though they weren’t talking about a person but something larger than that.
“Uh…” I stalled, biting my lip while searching for something simple to say. I’d hoped to avoid this conversation entirely, at least for today. “How about we start with introductions first?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but the boy cut in first.
“Name’s Oliver, and this is Sienna,” he said, wiggling his brows in a teasing, almost flirtatious way before leaning forward with an exaggerated grin.
“Ugh, Oliver, shut up,” Sienna muttered, though there wasn’t much bite behind it. She turned back to me, her expression sharpening again. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.”