19. Lynn
— ? —
Lynn
I can’t stop thinking about Milo’s words.
Things I should have told you. What you are to me.
The afternoon passes in a blur, classes I don’t remember, conversations I can’t recall, my mind spinning through possibilities. What hasn’t he told me? What could be so important that it requires a formal sit-down conversation?
By the time I’m heading to my closing shift at the library, the sun is setting and my anxiety is through the roof.
I take the shortcut. The one through the tree-lined path behind the library. It’s faster than the main route, and I’m already running late because I spent twenty minutes trying to decide what to wear to this mysterious “talk.”
The path is empty this time of day, most students are at dinner or in their dorms, and the overhead lights won’t kick on for another ten minutes. It’s that in-between time, dusk bleeding into darkness, when the shadows stretch long and the trees seem to press closer.
I’m halfway down the path when I hear footsteps behind me.
My pace quickens. So do the footsteps.
“Hey.”
I spin around.
A man steps out of the shadows. Big, easily over six feet, with broad shoulders and a mean set to his jaw. I recognize him vaguely. Dex something. An athlete with a reputation for being aggressive on and off the field.
“Can I help you?” I take a step backward.
“That depends.” He’s moving closer, his smile all wrong. “You’re Lindsay Crowe, right? The girl everyone’s been talking about?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do.” Another step. “Brittany and Jessica - they wanted me to deliver a message.”
My blood goes cold.
“What message?”
“That you should know your place.” His smile widens. “That the professor isn’t for girls like you. That if you had any sense, you’d transfer schools and never come back.”
I’m backing away, my heart pounding. “Look, I don’t want any trouble-”
“Too late for that.”
He lunges.
I run.
The path stretches ahead of me, trees on either side, the library distant, no one in sight. My lungs burn as I sprint, my bag bouncing against my hip, my shoes, stupid flimsy shoes, slipping on the gravel.
I hear him behind me. Gaining.
My legs push harder, but my foot catches, a root, a rock, I don’t know, and suddenly I’m falling, the ground rushing up to meet me.
I hit hard.
Pain explodes through my ankle, white-hot, blinding, pain that steals your breath and makes the world go gray at the edges. I try to get up, try to scramble away, but my ankle screams in protest and I crumple back to the ground.
No. No, no, no-
Dex stands over me, breathing hard.
“That was stupid,” he says. “Really stupid.”
I’m gasping, tears streaming down my face, my ankle throbbing with every heartbeat. “Please-”
“See, Brittany and Jessica just wanted me to scare you.” He crouches down, and I see what he’s carrying. It catches the last light of dusk.
A knife.
“But I think we can do better than that.”
This isn’t about Brittany and Jessica anymore. I can see it in his eyes, the way they’ve gone flat and empty, the way his smile has turned into something predatory. Their money was just an excuse. He’s enjoying this.
“Please-” My voice cracks. “I have money - I can-”
“I don’t want your money.”
He reaches for me, and I do the only thing I can think of, I grab a handful of gravel from the path and throw it in his face.
He swears, reeling back, clawing at his eyes.
I try to crawl away, but my ankle won’t cooperate, and every movement sends fresh waves of agony through my leg.
“You bitch-”
He grabs my hair, yanking me back, and I scream-
The dusk tears open.
There’s no other way to describe it. One second, there’s just me and Dex and the darkening path. The next, something explodes out of the shadows, a blur of motion and fury and a sound that doesn’t belong to any classroom.
A snarl. Deep and primal and wrong.
Dex releases me, spinning toward the threat, and I see his face go white.
I twist around, trying to see what he sees, and-
Milo.
But not Milo as I’ve known him.
He’s mid-shift, caught between human and something else, his features sharpening, his eyes blazing gold, his body seeming larger and more dangerous than it was this morning.
The sound coming out of him is like nothing I’ve ever heard.
It’s rage and terror and protective fury all wrapped into one, and it makes every instinct in my body scream predator.
Dex tries to run.
He doesn’t get far.
What happens next is a blur, I catch glimpses of movement, hear sounds that will haunt my nightmares, but my mind keeps slipping away from the details. My ankle is screaming, my vision is going gray, and somewhere in the chaos I think I hear Dex whimpering.
And then Milo is there.
Human again, or close enough, kneeling in front of me on the path. His hands are shaking as they cup my face, tilt my chin up, check me for injuries.
“Lynn. Lynn, look at me.”
“I’m - I’m okay-”
“You’re not okay, you’re hurt, let me see-”
His hands find my ankle, and I hiss in pain.
“Not broken.” His voice is rough, barely controlled. “Sprained. Badly. But not broken.”
“Milo-”
“I’ve got you.” He gathers me off the path like I’m something priceless, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back, pulling me against his chest. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
He’s repeating it under his breath, helpless, like he can’t stop saying it.
I realize he’s crying.
“Milo.” I reach up, touch his face. His eyes are still gold, wet with tears that track down his cheeks. “I’m okay. You got here in time.”
“I almost didn’t.” His voice breaks. “I felt - I don’t know how to explain it - I felt you were in danger. Something in my chest just-” He shakes his head. “If I’d been any later-”
“You weren’t.”
“But if I had been-”
“You weren’t.” I press my forehead to his. “You’re here. I’m safe.”
He holds me there for a long moment, his whole body trembling.
“The man,” I finally say. “Dex. Where-”
“Being handled.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he won’t bother you again. It means he’ll confess to everything - who sent him, why, what he was planning.” Milo’s expression goes hard. “And it means Brittany and Jessica are finished at this school.”
I should probably feel bad about that. I don’t.
“How?”
“You don’t need to know the details.”
“Milo-”
“He’s alive. That’s all you need to know.” He pulls back slightly, looking at me with those golden eyes. “I wanted to kill him. When I saw what he was doing - what he had in his hand-” His jaw clenches. “I’ve never wanted to kill anyone more in my entire life.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you needed me more.” He kisses my forehead, gentle despite the violence still thrumming in his muscles. “Let me take you somewhere safe. Let me take care of you.”
I nod, and he lifts me easily, carrying me back toward campus.
As we pass a bench near the library, I catch a glimpse of something, a figure slumped against the wall. Dex, I realize. Unconscious, wrapped in his own jacket like some kind of demented present. There’s something clutched in his hand. A piece of paper.
“Is that-”
“A written confession. Signed. Plus the voice memo he recorded on his own phone bragging about the arrangement before he found me.” Milo’s voice is grim.
“Naming Brittany and Jessica. Campus security will find him in about ten minutes, and the disciplinary board will convene the moment you’re well enough to give a statement.
I want you in that room, Lynn. Not because you owe them anything - because you’ve earned the right to watch. ”
“Did you - did you make him write it?”
“I asked politely.”
“Milo.”
“Very politely. While he was still conscious enough to hold a pen.”
I shouldn’t find that comforting. I definitely shouldn’t find it hot.
I find it both.
We’re almost to the quad when I hear running footsteps, Maya’s voice calling my name.
“LYNN! Oh my god, what happened?”
“She’s okay,” Milo says before I can answer. “Sprained ankle. She’s going to be fine.”
“But-”
“I’m handling it.”
Maya looks at him, takes in the gold still flickering in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the possessive way he’s holding me, and something in her expression shifts.
“The guy who’s unconscious by the library,” she says slowly. “That was you?”
“No comment.”
“He had a knife-”
“No comment.”
“Professor Draven-”
“No comment, Miss Alvarez.”
Maya looks at me. I give a tiny shake of my head.
“Fine.” She falls into step beside us. “But I’m coming with. She’s my best friend.”
“Acceptable.”
We make it to Milo’s apartment, the hidden bedroom behind his office, without encountering anyone else. He settles me on his bed, propping my ankle on pillows, producing ice from somewhere.
“Stay still. I need to check you’re not hurt anywhere else.”
“I’m fine-”
“You fell. Hard. Let me check.”
He’s careful, thorough, running his hands over my arms and legs and ribs with clinical precision. When he’s satisfied that the ankle is my only injury, some of the tension finally leaves his shoulders.
Maya hovers in the doorway, watching with wide eyes.
“Okay,” she says. “I have so many questions.”
“Later.” Milo doesn’t look at her. “Right now, she needs rest.”
“But-”
“Later.”
Maya looks at me. I nod.
“Fine.” She points at Milo. “But you’d better take care of her. Or I’ll - I don’t know what I’ll do, but it’ll be bad.”
“Understood.”
She leaves, and it’s just us.
Milo sits on the edge of the bed, taking my hand in his.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“For what? You saved me.”
“For this whole mess. For those two going this far. For-” He runs a hand through his hair. “There are things I haven’t told you. Things that might have prevented-”
“What things?”
He looks at me, and his expression is the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen it.
“Tomorrow,” he says finally. “Tomorrow I’ll tell you everything. But right now, you need to rest. You’ve been through trauma, and your body needs time to recover.”
“Milo-”
“Please.” His hand tightens on mine. “Let me take care of you tonight. And tomorrow, I’ll answer every question you have.”
I want to push, to demand answers now.
But my ankle is throbbing, and my body is exhausted, and there’s something in his eyes that makes me think whatever he’s hiding is big enough to wait for daylight.
“And you’ll actually tell me?” I search his face. “Not some watered-down version?”
“All of it. As soon as you’ve slept.” He tucks the blanket tighter around me.
He climbs into bed beside me, pulling me against him, careful not to jostle my ankle.
“Brittany and Jessica,” I say into his chest. “What’s going to happen to them?”
“There’s a hearing. In a few days, once you can stand on that ankle.
” His arms tighten around me. “The confession names them specifically, and the recording does the rest. But they’ll fight it - girls like that always do.
They’ll cry, they’ll spin, they’ll try to make you the villain.
” A pause. “So I want them to try. In front of everyone. And I want you there to watch it fail.”
“Will they know it was you?”
“They’ll suspect.” His chin comes to rest on top of my head. “But they won’t be able to prove anything. And even if they could - they hired someone to attack you with a knife. No one’s going to care about their accusations.”
I should feel something about that, triumph, maybe, or vindication.
Instead, I just feel tired.
“Stay with me,” I whisper.
“Always.”
“You’re staying,” I mumble, already half under.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He kisses the top of my head. “Now sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
I close my eyes, and the darkness takes me.
But even in sleep, I can feel it, the weight of whatever Milo isn’t telling me.
Tomorrow, he said.
Tomorrow, everything changes.