7. Chapter Seven - Unlikely Anchors
“Loshe.” Ms. Halls voice rose above the low murmur of the room, firm without being demanding. She lifted her hand and motioned for me to come closer, the gesture small and her expression carefully unreadable.
I glanced instinctively toward the door just as Culver slipped through it without a word.
The space he left behind felt oddly empty, enough to make me wonder if he’d finally decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.
Maybe whatever strange thing existed between us had been nothing more than passing curiosity, something temporary he could walk away from now that the mystery had faded.
I was emotionally attached already. Fantastic. Love that for me.
The thought irritated me further. Disappointment settled beneath it before I could stop it from taking root. This wasn’t the first time a guy had lost interest without warning, but with Culver, the abruptness stung in a way I couldn’t fully explain.
I exhaled slowly, folding my arms as though that might steady me, and walked toward Ms. Halls, doing my best not to let the exhaustion clinging to me seep into my voice. “Yes?”
Her gaze dropped briefly to the paper in her hand before lifting to meet mine. “All of your texts for the term have been sorted,” she said evenly, “though I’ve yet to receive the last one for this module. Would you mind sharing them with Mr. Scarbrough in the meantime?”
I blinked, my brows knitting together as I processed that. “My books were paid for?”
“Yes,” she replied with a small nod. “Ordinarily, students settle payment at the beginning of the term, but in your case, it appears everything has already been arranged.” Her tone remained calm, but something in it felt measured, as though she were stepping carefully around information she didn’t quite want to touch.
It clicked a second later. “Oh. Right,” I said quietly, recovering quickly. “My Ma’s employers. That makes sense.” I ran a hand through my hair, forcing ease into my posture even as my thoughts tangled. “Sharing with Culver is fine.”
She offered a polite smile and turned back toward her desk, but something nagged at me enough that I stopped her. “By the way,” I added, hesitating just long enough to second-guess myself, “how long have they been involved with the university?”
Something flickered through her eyes, there and gone so fast I might’ve imagined it. “They…” She hesitated, then seemed to recalibrate, offering a small nod as though she’d changed direction mid-thought. “You should speak with Mr. Scarbrough. He’ll have the details.”
I frowned, genuinely confused. “Ask Culver? I mean, sure, but why would he know more than you?” Which sounded inconvenient considering every conversation with him somehow turned into a psychological event.
Her mouth tightened, the subtle shift of someone weighing whether they’d already said too much.
For a moment, it looked as though she might explain, but instead she pressed her lips together and offered a vague, professional smile that told me nothing at all.
The sort that said the conversation was over whether I liked it or not.
Any lingering curiosity dulled beneath my exhaustion. My body still hummed with the aftermath of a sleepless night, leaving me without the energy to untangle another mystery today. “Thanks for the info,” I said, already stepping back. “I’ll see you next week.”
She nodded, her eyes lingering on me a beat longer before she turned away.
As I stepped into the hallway, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Culver stood just outside the door, still and silent, his gaze fixed on the wall ahead as though he’d been carved there. I hadn’t expected anyone to be waiting, least of all him.
“Jesus,” I blurted, stumbling back a step as my chest jolted painfully. “You can’t just stand there like a statue. That’s creepy.” Did he practice appearing dramatically or did it simply happen on its own?
He turned his head slowly, his face unreadable for a moment too long before his eyes settled on me with the steady focus I was starting to recognize. “I apologize,” he said quietly. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
I pressed a hand to my chest and forced myself to breathe. “I just thought you’d already left for your next class or whatever.”
“I was waiting for you,” he replied, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside me.
I cleared my throat. “You don’t have to follow me around like…”
“Like what?” he asked, his tone measured.
I stopped walking and turned to face him, narrowing my eyes slightly.
“Like you’re assigned to me or something.
” Which honestly wouldn’t have shocked me at this point.
I puffed my cheeks, trying to wrap my head around what he could possibly want from me beyond whatever everyone else already assumed.
I wasn’t na?ve about where I stood in places like this, not after everything I’d seen so far.
“Would that trouble you?” he asked quietly, his gaze shifting with something unreadable beneath it.
I bit my lip, knowing I needed to answer. “I’m not sure…”
The silence that followed settled between us, heavy but not uncomfortable, as though we’d stepped into some unspoken agreement neither of us knew how to define yet.
I started walking again, my thoughts circling everything he hadn’t said.
I didn’t trust easily after all the disappointments in my past, but something about Culver made me want to forget that.
After a moment, he tilted his head, studying my face with quiet scrutiny. “Are you unwell?”
I glanced at him, confused. “Um, why’re you asking?”
“The shadows beneath your eyes,” he said gently, gesturing toward my face. “They are dark with a purplish shade, which indicates you slept poorly.”
Great. Apparently I looked as bad as I felt.
“It’s just the new house,” I said. “I’m still getting used to it.”
I hesitated, weighing whether I should say anything else as the scent I’d noticed last night lingered faintly in the back of my mind, unsettling and recognizable. “Hey, um… speaking of the house. Were you near my place yesterday?”
He tilted his head, that faint smirk returning. “I dropped you off yesterday evening. So yes, I suppose I was around your house.”
My eye twitched. “No,” I pressed, my voice sharpening. “I meant specifically last night.”
Because if he said yes, I was legally allowed to panic.
Instead of answering, he hummed quietly, low and cryptic. A sound that offered nothing while somehow suggesting everything.
His hand lifted, brushing through my hair before settling lightly on top of my head in an almost absent gesture, as though he were soothing something instinctively. I flinched and nudged him away, not roughly, but firmly enough to make my point.
“Why do you do that?” I asked, half-laughing despite myself. “I’m not a baby.”
“I think it is because you are much shorter than I am,” he said with a grin. “It makes me want to pet you affectionately.”
I was not about to get domesticated by a weirdly attractive man.
“You’re not that much taller than me,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I rose onto my tiptoes, stubborn and ridiculous. It was a lie considering he was built like a haunted tree.
He didn’t argue. He simply raised his hand and traced an invisible line just above my head, lifting a brow with quiet confidence.
His smile wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was patient in a way that drove me a little crazy.
I scrunched my nose but didn’t push it further.
Maybe he really was just tall, and I could deal with that.
Boundaries, though, were another thing entirely.
“I’m still not a baby,” I muttered as we reached the classroom door.
“I have not thought that once about you,” he replied calmly, his gaze steady, and I believed him.
“Well, that’s good at least,” I said softly, the corner of my mouth lifting. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get to class.”
“And I will see you after,” he said, the gentle smile returning. “My little lamb.”
I groaned but didn’t correct him, pushing through the door before he could say anything else.
That was probably how cults started.
I spotted Sienna and Oliver almost instantly, sprawled across the soft seats near the middle of the room, already deep in what could only be described as academic warfare.
They leaned toward each other with animated intensity, voices sharp and overlapping, hands flying as though they were conducting an orchestra only they could hear.
Sienna jabbed a finger at the paper between them, her cheeks puffed with frustration as though she might actually combust.
“You aren’t listening; I said it wouldn’t bloody work,” she snapped, eyes narrowed into little daggers. Each word landed clipped and exact, the sort of authority that came from being right far too often.
Oliver, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered. He lounged back in his seat like a smug cat, lips pulled into a dramatic sneer. “I’m keeping it,” he declared with full theatrical flair, “because it makes our subject pop, obviously.”
“Hey, guys,” I said, sliding into the empty chair beside them and lifting a brow. “What’s got y’all tied in knots?”
They turned on me in perfect synchronization, as though they’d rehearsed it.
“He won’t listen to me!”
“She won’t listen to me!”
I snorted because they argued with the ease of a long-married couple, equal parts exhausting and weirdly endearing.
Somehow, it made me feel a little less like an outsider slipping into their world.
“How about I settle it?” I offered, reaching for the page they were tugging back and forth like a wishbone.
“Let me decide if the sentence fits or not.”
“Brilliant!” Oliver exclaimed, instantly surrendering the paper as though he’d just won something.
As I scanned the sentence, Sienna leaned closer and nudged my elbow, lowering her voice into something conspiratorial. “We clocked you’d be with Scarbrough,” she said with a grin. “So we swooped in early and bagged seats near you.”
I glanced up with a questioning expression. “Oh, thanks, but I wasn’t—”