XXVII
The next morning, the storm had broken, leaving the sky bruised and heavy.
Puddles lined the road like warped mirrors, reflecting telephone lines against the gray-purple belly of the retreating clouds.
Everything had that washed, too-bright glare storms leave behind—the world pretending nothing strange had happened the night before.
But nothing about me felt reset.
I pulled into my usual spot and cut the engine. The student lot steamed in the pale morning sun, thick with the smell of wet pavement and exhaust as students in dark hoodies drifted between rows of cars.
It was all painfully ordinary.
Across the lot, Penny climbed out of her car. Her cobalt jacket was a shock of color against the gray morning. She was laughing at something a girl said—a bright, simple sound that didn’t reach me.
Then she glanced up, as if she felt the weight of my stare.
Our eyes met.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Her mouth tightened, the laughter dying in a way that made my chest ache. She looked away first, heading for the Humanities building without waiting.
She didn’t storm off. She just chose not to meet me halfway.
It stung all the same.
I shouldered my bag and followed.
The moment I stepped inside, the school’s morning noise crashed over me—lockers banging, footsteps pounding, the chemical tang of dry-erase markers cutting through the air.
I kept my head down until the hallway spilled me into first period.
I slipped into my seat beside Penny just as the bell rang.
She didn’t move her bag to make room, but she didn’t edge her chair away, either.
She kept underlining her novella, pen moving in tight, studious strokes.
At the front of the room, Ms. Dobson was already lecturing on gothic atmospheres and storms as emotional mirrors.
On any other day, I would have caught Penny’s eye and shared a look.
Today, I stared into space.
When the bell rang, she moved with frantic efficiency—pen capped, papers stacked, bag over her shoulder before I had even closed my book. She didn’t look at me as she left, only brushed past, leaving a faint drift of vanilla perfume and a hundred things unsaid.
Fall had taken over the hallway. Bulletin boards overflowed with curling paper leaves, pumpkin-orange borders, and flyers pinned crooked beneath garlands of faded gold.
I ducked my head and wove through the chaos toward State History.
Heaton was already in his seat.
A monolith of shadow—worn denim, dark tee, a faded jacket draped over the back of his chair. He had leaned back just far enough for his shoulders to rest against the cinderblock wall, legs stretched beneath the desk and crossed at the ankles, blocking the narrow gap into the rest of the row.
The entire row in front of him was empty. A buffer zone of his own making.
My feet carried me down the main aisle, past the safe, familiar seats, and straight toward his corner. I stopped at the edge of his territory, a silent plea caught in the space between us.
He didn’t look up.
Not until I stood directly beside his desk.
Then his head lifted, dark hair falling away from his eyes. They were the color of a winter sea today—calm and deep—but I knew better now. I knew the currents that ran beneath.
Without a word, Heaton uncrossed his legs and pulled them back just enough to create a narrow passage between his knees and the desk. The shift left him sinking deeper into his chair, one hand resting casually in his pocket, the other draped over his knee.
I turned sideways, clutching my bag to my chest like a shield, and inched past.
The space was criminally tight.
I had to press my back against the cool wood of his desk as I shuffled forward. For one breathless second, my thigh brushed his knee. The contact was electric—a jolt of static and cold shooting straight up my spine. Heat bloomed across my cheeks before I could stop it.
I risked a glance down at him.
He was looking up at me, eyes hooded, jaw set in a hard, unreadable line.
I finally stumbled into the seat and dropped my bag, fumbling for a pen.
“You could’ve just moved,” I mumbled, keeping my head down.
I didn’t have to look up to feel his shoulder brush mine. He was close enough that the chill coming off him bled into my space. His scent today—pine, blood orange, and something palely floral—filled my lungs, making my thoughts scatter.
“You look tired, October.”
He tipped his head just enough to catch my eye.
“Did the backup not stay long enough to tuck you in?”
The words dropped like a stone into still water.
I looked over sharply.
He knew.
He had listened.
My face flushed hot. I brushed my hair back, a nervous habit, exposing my throat for a split second.
His silver eyes flicked down instantly.
They weren’t just looking. They were searching, cataloging the place where my collar shifted, hunting for the marks he had left—and whatever trace remained of the man who had tried to erase them with a hug.
“I didn’t ask him to stay,” I whispered.
“I know.”
He didn’t pull back.
If anything, he leaned closer, his shadow swallowing mine.
“But you’re going to need tougher skin if we’re going to survive this. And tonight, I need more than a study session.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I need access to your father’s files. The ones in the lab.” He paused, letting the weight of the request settle. “Think you can keep your guard dog on his own side of the fence tonight?”
“Ford?” The name was pure reflex.
One dark brow lifted in a perfect, mocking arc. “You have more than one?”
“He’s not my—”
His smirk cut me off.
From across the room, we probably looked like any other pair of seniors leaning in to share a secret—me flustered, him unnervingly still.
But while the other guys checked their phones, Heaton’s eyes kept moving.
Reflections in the window.
Exits.
Anyone sitting too close.
He was mapping the classroom when the door creaked open, the squeaky hinge cutting through the pre-bell chatter.
Julian walked in.
His jacket hung open, movements loose. His dark eyes flicked from me to Heaton in a slow, assessing pass—too knowing to be casual.
He dropped into a seat two rows ahead and to the left.
A perfect vantage point.
The room seemed to lose ten degrees.
Beside me, Heaton leaned back, one arm settling along the back of my chair. His fingers brushed the nape of my neck—a cold, grounding pressure.
“We’ll talk later,” he said, attention locked on Julian’s back.
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way my pulse jumped at his touch. “Are you always this paranoid?”
Julian didn’t fully turn around. He only swiveled enough to catch us in his periphery, expression flat, eyes like chips of obsidian as they narrowed on Heaton’s arm behind me.
It was a look of pure, simmering irritation.
In response, Heaton angled my chair a few inches left, shielding me further from Julian’s line of sight. His arm remained, an icy bar across my shoulders.
“Subtle,” I breathed.
His mouth dipped to my ear.
“I’m not trying to be.”
A shiver raced down my spine, a traitorous response to the cold threat in his tone.
“You’re trouble,” I whispered.
A slow, dangerous blink was his only reply.
“No, October,” he said. “I’m worse.”
He shifted closer, and the temperature dropped against my side.
“They want you alone,” he said, his voice losing its teasing edge. “That’s when they think you’ll be easiest to break.”
The pen in his hand tapped once against his notebook.
A quiet final punctuation.
“And that’s not happening. Not when we’re this close.”
When the bell rang, the room erupted—chairs scraping, backpacks zipping, students rushing for the door. I gathered my things, but Heaton was already on his feet, waiting. He fell into step beside me as we funneled into the hall, stride unhurried and precise.
“Try not to cause a scene before lunch,” he said as we turned the corner.
I shot him a look. “I wasn’t the one staging one.”
He didn’t look at me, but a faint curve touched his mouth before he veered down the north hall without a goodbye. The roar of the student body swallowed him, and for a moment, the air around me felt warmer.
Penny was already at her desk when I walked into third period. She didn’t ignore me, but the usual brightness was gone—no arm looped through mine, no whispered gossip.
“Hey,” she said.
The word was soft.
Testing.
“Hey.”
Mr. Lin started drawing triangles on the board. Beside me, Penny’s mechanical pencil scratched across her paper. She chewed the inside of her lip, eyes fixed on the board with painful focus.
Snap.
The lead broke. She stared at it too long, shoulders drooping.
Without a word, I slid my spare pencil across the desk.
She took it. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second—no grand apology, no full makeup, but the air between us finally seemed to thaw.
By the end of class, she returned the pencil—a quiet peace offering—and slipped out with the crowd.
I stayed behind, letting the room empty.
The student body streamed toward the cafeteria in a loud, laughing current, but I peeled away toward the art wing.
The courtyard behind it was nearly empty—concrete still dark from the rain, picnic tables slick, leaves pressed flat like wilted paper hearts.
I sat, unwrapped my sandwich, and stared at it, waiting for hunger to catch up.
A darker shape crossed the tabletop.
“I could’ve sworn,” a voice drawled, “I told you not to be alone.”
Heaton dropped onto the bench beside me without waiting for an invitation, his weight making the metal table shift with a soft groan. One arm draped along the back of the bench behind me, his knee brushing mine.
“I’m at school,” I said. “In broad daylight. With witnesses.”
Heaton didn’t budge. His silver eyes scanned the perimeter—students passing in the distance, open exits, blind spots between brick walls.
“Danger doesn’t seem to be that picky with you.”
I huffed, picking at the corner of my sandwich wrapper. “You’re exhausting.”
A breeze shook the last rain from the trees, droplets ticking against the metal table.
Across the courtyard, Penny passed with her group.
Julian walked beside her—close enough to register, impossible to ignore.
Not a shadow.
A stain.
Penny’s eyes caught mine before she looked away. She didn’t stop, but she didn’t walk faster, either. Heaton tracked them until they disappeared through the doors, then shifted his focus back to me.
“She’s still angry?”
“She’s hurt,” I corrected, the word sticking in my throat. “I want to tell her. I just don’t know how to explain—”
“That she’s only safe as long as she’s oblivious?”
His lazy indifference vanished into something sharper.
“Tell her the truth, Madeline, and she becomes a target. Right now, she’s just a girl with a flaky friend. Let’s keep it that way.”
I looked down, feeling the weight of our secret like a brick in my lap.
“Point taken.”
His tone turned businesslike.
“Tonight, we hunt for the Compass. Or where your father hid it. Harvey would have had a plan if it was ever damaged or if he was ever compromised.”
I looked up. “Tonight?”
One eyebrow lifted. “That a problem? Did you have other plans?”
“No, I just . . . ” I shook my head. “Sorry. It’s just a lot. It’s overwhelming.”
I hated how small my voice sounded.
“I’m aware.”
Heat washed over my cheeks. A ringing started in my ears. I picked at the crust of my sandwich, grounding myself.
“Forget it,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. I can handle it myself.”
A dry, humorless laugh escaped him.
“You can handle it?”
He plucked a damp, dead leaf from the table and flipped it between his fingers, watching water bead against his skin.
“You think I enjoy this? Watching you pretend you’re untouchable while they circle the block?”
His gaze lifted from the leaf and pinned me in place.
“The alternative to helping you tonight isn’t you going it alone, October. The alternative is the Lanterns getting to it first. So, you can swallow your pride and let me help, or you can be stubborn and lead them right to you. Again.”
He let the leaf fall.
“So, what’s it going to be?”
I met his eyes, searching for any crack in his armor.
“Seriously,” I said. “Why are you so invested? This feels personal.”
His jaw locked.
The leaf lay between us, wet and ruined.
“Because it is,” he said, voice flat. “From the moment I realized I had even the smallest chance of finding it, I’ve been waiting for this.”
His eyes hardened.
“For a very long time.”
“Heaton . . . there’s so much to sort through. This was my dad’s entire life.”
“Then it would take you until graduation to find the end.”
“Then it takes that long,” I shot back. “We’re not rushing this.”
Now he looked up, eyes cutting into me, steel-bright in the weak daylight.
“We don’t have that kind of time.”
The bell detonated through the courtyard, shattering the silence. Around us, the quiet space transformed into a chaotic river of movement.
“The bell,” I managed. “I have gym.”
“I’ll walk you.”
He stood—slow, effortless, and entirely too close.
“Isn’t your class across campus?”
“I know exactly what I have.”
He didn’t move to leave.
He waited, a silent, sub-zero shadow at my elbow.
“I can manage a hundred yards of hallway, Heaton.”
“I’m sure you can.”
He stepped into my path, forcing me to stop.
“But you won’t be doing it alone.”
He didn’t touch me as we moved through the throng of students, but the localized chill of him pressed constantly against my arm, his presence carving a path no one seemed willing to obstruct.
At the gymnasium threshold, he stopped. He didn’t follow me inside. He just leaned against the red brick with his arms crossed—a silver-eyed gatekeeper.
“Don’t wander off, October. I’m not in the mood to come find you again.”